LENWOOD 


0JE  CALBE.  LIBRAE!,.  LOS  ANGELES 


HARDING  OF  ALLENWOOD 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


ALTON  OF  SOMASCO 
LORIMER  OF  THE  NORTHWEST 
THURSTON  OF  ORCHARD  VALLEY 
WINSTON  OF  THE  PRAIRIE 
THE  GOLD  TRAIL 
SYDNEY  CARTERET,  RANCHER 
A  PRAIRIE  COURTSHIP 
VANE  OF  THE  TIMBERLANDS 
THE  LONG  PORTAGE 
RANCHING  FOR  SYLVIA 
PRESCOTT  OF  SASKATCHEWAN 
THE  DUST  OF  CONFLICT 
THE  GREATER  POWER 
MASTERS  OF  THE  WHEATLANDS 
DELILAH  OF  THE  SNOWS 
BY  RIGHT  OF  PURCHASE 
THE  CATTLE  BARON'S 

DAUGHTER 
THRICE  ARMED 
FOR  JACINTA 
THE  INTRIGUERS 
THE  LEAGUE  OF  THE  LEOPARD 
FOR  THE  ALLINSON  HONOR 
THE  SECRET  OF  THE  REEF 


c> 


PICK     UP    YOUR    SKIRT, 


HE  SAID  BLUNTLY; 
Page  32 


IT    GETS     STEEPER.       — 


HARDING  of 
ALLENWOOD 

BY  HAROLD   BINDLOSS 

Author  of  "PRESSCOTT  OF  SASKATCHEWAN," 
''RANCHING  FOR  SYLVIA,"  "FOR  THE  ALLINSON 
HONOR,"  "THE  SECRET  OF  THE  REEF,"  ETC. 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  IN  COLOR 


FREDERICK   A.    STOKES    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1915,  by 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


m 


September, 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEB  PAGE 

I  THE  PIONEERS    .........       i 

II    PORTENTS  OF  CHANGE 14 

III  AT  THE  FORD 26 

IV  THE  OPENING  OF  THE  RIFT     ....     36 
V    THE  SPENDTHRIFT 48 

VI    THE  MORTGAGE  BROKER 56 

VII    AN  ACCIDENT 67 

VIII    AN  UNEXPECTED  ESCAPE 79 

IX    A  MAN  OF  AFFAIRS 92 

X    THE  CASTING  VOTE 103 

XI    THE  STEAM  PLOW 118 

XII    THE  ENEMY  WITHIN 132 

XIII  THE  TRAITOR 145 

XIV  A  BOLD  SCHEME 156 

XV    HARVEST  HOME 169 

XVI    THE  BRIDGE 182 

XVII    A  HEAVY  BLOW 192 

XVIII    COVERING  His  TRAIL 203 

XIX  THE  BLIZZARD    ....     .(/O    .     .215 

XX  A  SEVERE  TEST       .     .     .     <&.     .     .  225 

XXI    THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING 236 

XXII    THE  PRICE  OF  HONOR 245 

XXIII  A  WOMAN  INTERVENES 255 

XXIV  A  GREAT  TRIUMPH 264 

XXV    THE  REBUFF 276 


2128779 


CONTENTS 

XXVI  DROUGHT 287 

XXVII  THE  ADVENTURESS 298 

XXVIII  FIRE  AND  HAIL 308 

XXIX  A  BRAVE  HEART 318 

XXX  THE  INHERITANCE 326 


HARDING  OF  ALLENWOOD 


HARDING, 
OF  ALLENWOOD 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   PIONEERS 

IT  was  a  clear  day  in  September.  The  boisterous 
winds  which  had  swept  the  wide  Canadian  plain  all 
summer  had  fallen  and  only  a  faint  breeze  stirred  the 
yellowing  leaves  of  the  poplars.  Against  the  glaring 
blue  of  the  northern  sky  the  edge  of  the  prairie  cut  in 
a  long,  straight  line;  above  the  southern  horizon 
rounded  cloud-masses  hung,  soft  and  white  as  wool. 
Far  off,  the  prairie  was  washed  with  tints  of  delicate 
gray,  but  as  it  swept  in  to  the  foreground  the  color 
changed,  growing  in  strength,  to  brown  and  ocher  with 
streaks  of  silvery  brightness  where  the  withered  grass 
caught  the  light.  To  the  east  the  view  was  broken, 
for  the  banks  of  a  creek  that  wound  across  the  broad 
level  were  lined  with  timber  —  birches  and  poplars 
growing  tall  in  the  shelter  of  the  ravine  and  straggling 
along  its  crest.  Their  pale-colored  branches  glowed 
among  the  early  autumn  leaves. 

In  a  gap  between  the  trees  two  men  stood  resting  on 
their  axes,  and  rows  of  logs  and  branches  and  piles  of 
chips  were  scattered  about  the  clearing.  The  men 


2  HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

were  dressed  much  alike,  in  shirts  that  had  once  been 
blue  but  were  now  faded  to  an  indefinite  color,  old 
brown  overalls,  and  soft  felt  hats  that  had  fallen  out 
of  shape.  Their  arms  were  bare  to  the  elbows,  the 
low  shirt-collars  left  their  necks  exposed,  showing  skin 
that  had  weathered,  like  their  clothing,  to  the  color  of 
the  soil.  Standing  still,  they  were  scarcely  distin- 
guishable from  their  surroundings. 

Harding  was  thirty  years  old,  and  tall  and  strongly 
built.  He  looked  virile  and  athletic,  but  his  figure  was 
marked  by  signs  of  strength  rather  than  grace.  His 
forehead  was  broad,  his  eyes  between  blue  and  gray, 
and  his  gaze  gravely  steady.  He  had  a  straight  nose 
and  a  firm  mouth ;  and  although  there  was  more  than 
a  hint  of  determination  in  his  expression,  it  indicated, 
on  the  whole,  a  pleasant,  even  a  magnetic,  disposition. 

Devine  was  five  years  younger  and  of  lighter  build. 
He  was  the  handsomer  of  the  two,  but  he  lacked  that 
indefinite  something  about  his  companion  which  at- 
tracted more  attention. 

"  Let's  quit  a  few  minutes  for  a  smoke,"  suggested 
Devine,  dropping  his  ax.  "  We've  worked  pretty  hard 
since  noon." 

He  sat  down  on  a  log  and  took  out  an  old  corncob 
pipe.  When  it  was  filled  and  lighted  he  leaned  back 
contentedly  against  a  friendly  stump. 

Harding  remained  standing,  his  hand  on  the  long 
ax-haft,  his  chin  slightly  lifted,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  empty  plain.  Between  him  and  the  horizon  there 
was  no  sign  of  life  except  that  a  flock  of  migrating 
birds  were  moving  south  across  the  sky  in  a  drawn-out 
wedge.  The  wide  expanse  formed  part  of  what  was 
then  the  territory  of  Assiniboia,  and  is  now  the  prov- 


THE  PIONEERS  3 

ince  of  Saskatchewan.  As  far  as  one  could  see,  the 
soil  was  thin  alluvial  loam,  interspersed  with  the  stiff 
"  gumbo  "  that  grows  the  finest  wheat ;  but  the  plow 
had  not  yet  broken  its  surface.  Small  towns  were 
springing  up  along  the  railroad  track,  but  the  great 
plain  between  the  Saskatchewan  and  the  Assiniboine 
was,  for  the  most  part,  still  a  waste,  waiting  for  the 
tide  of  population  that  had  begun  to  flow. 

Harding  was  a  born  pioneer,  and  his  expression 
grew  intent  as  he  gazed  across  the  wilderness. 

"  What  will  this  prairie  be  like,  Fred,  when  those 
poplars  are  tall  enough  to  cut  ?  "  he  said  gravely,  in- 
dicating some  saplings  beside  him.  "  There's  going  to 
be  a  big  change  here." 

"  That's  true ;  and  it's  just  what  I'm  counting  on. 
That's  what  made  me  leave  old  Dakota.  I  want  to  be 
in  on  the  ground-floor !  " 

Harding  knit  his  brows,  and  his  face  had  a  concen- 
trated look.  He  was  not  given  to  talking  at  large,  but 
he  had  a  gift  of  half-instinctive  prevision  as  well  as 
practical,  constructive  ability,  and  just  then  he  felt 
strangely  moved.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  heard  in 
the  distance  the  march  of  a  great  army  of  new  home- 
builders,  moving  forward  slowly  and  cautiously  as  yet. 
He  was  one  of  the  advance  skirmishers,  though  the 
first  scouts  had  already  pushed  on  and  vanished  across 
the  skyline  into  the  virgin  West. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "think  what's  happening!  On- 
tario's settled  and  busy  with  manufactures;  Manitoba 
and  the  Dakotas,  except  for  the  sand-belts,  are  filling 
up.  The  older  States  are  crowded,  and  somebody 
owns  all  the  soil  that's  worth  working  in  the  Middle 
iWest.  England  and  Germany  are  overflowing,  and 


4  HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

we  have  roughly  seven  hundred  miles  of  country  here 
that  needs  people.  They  must  come.  The  pressure 
behind  will  force  them." 

"  But  think  what  that  will  mean  to  the  price  of 
wheat!  It's  bringing  only  a  dollar  and  a  half  now. 
We  can't  raise  it  at  a  dollar." 

"  It  will  break  the  careless,"  Harding  said,  "  but 
dollar  wheat  will  come.  The  branch  railroads  will 
follow  the  homesteads ;  you'll  see  the  elevators  dotting 
the  prairie,  and  when  we've  opened  up  this  great  table- 
land between  the  American  border  and  the  frozen  line, 
the  wheat  will  pour  into  every  settlement  faster  than 
the  cars  can  haul  it  out.  Prices  will  fall  until  every 
slack  farmer  has  mortgaged  all  he  owns." 

"  Then  what  good  will  it  do?  If  the  result  is  to  be 
only  mortgages?" 

"  Oh,  but  I  said  every  slack  farmer.  It  will  clear 
out  the  incompetent,  improve  our  methods.  The  ox- 
team  and  the  grass  trail  will  have  to  go.  We'll  have 
steam  gang-plows  and  graded  roads.  We'll  have  bet- 
ter machines  all  round." 

"And  afterward?" 

Harding's  eyes  sparkled. 

"Afterward?  Then  the  men  with  brains  and  grit 
who  have  held  on  —  the  fittest,  who  have  survived  — 
will  come  into  such  prosperity  as  few  farmers  have 
ever  had.  America,  with  her  population  leaping  up, 
will  have  less  and  less  wheat  to  ship;  England  will 
steadily  call  for  more ;  we'll  have  wheat  at  a  price  that 
will  pay  us  well  before  we're  through.  Then  there'll 
be  no  more  dug-outs  and  log-shacks,  but  fine  brick 
homesteads,  with  all  the  farms  fenced  and  mechanical 


THE  PIONEERS  5 

transport  on  the  roads.  It's  coming,  Fred!  Those 
who  live  through  the  struggle  will  certainly  see  it." 

Harding  laughed  and  lifted  his  ax. 

"But  enough  of  that!  If  we're  to  get  our  home- 
steads up  before  the  frost  comes,  we'll  have  to  hustle." 

The  big  ax  flashed  in  the  sunshine  and  bit  deep  into 
a  poplar  trunk;  but  when  a  few  more  logs  had  been 
laid  beside  the  rest  the  men  stopped  again,  for  they 
heard  a  beat  of  hoofs  coming  toward  them  across  the 
prairie.  The  trees  cut  off  their  view  of  the  rider,  but 
when  he  rounded  a  corner  of  the  bluff  and  pulled  up 
his  horse,  they  saw  a  young  lad,  picturesquely  dressed 
in  a  deerskin  jacket  of  Indian  make,  decorated  with 
fringed  hide  and  embroidery,  cord  riding-breeches,  and 
polished  leggings.  His  slouch  hat  was  pushed  back  on 
his  head,  showing  a  handsome  face  that  had  in  it  a 
touch  of  imperiousness. 

"  Hello ! "  he  said,  with  a  look  of  somewhat  indig- 
nant surprise.  "  What  are  you  fellows  doing  here?  " 

Harding  felt  amused  at  the  tone  of  superiority  in 
the  youngster's  voice;  yet  he  had  a  curious,  half-con- 
scious feeling  that  there  was  something  he  recognized 
about  the  boy.  It  was  not  that  he  had  met  him  before, 
but  that  well-bred  air  and  the  clean  English  intonation 
were  somehow  familiar. 

"  If  you  look  around  you,"  Harding  smiled,  "  you 
might  be  able  to  guess  that  we're  cutting  down  trees." 

The  boy  gave  an  imperious  toss  of  his  head. 

"  What  I  meant  was  that  you  have  no  right  on  this 
property." 

"No?" 

"  It  belongs  to  us.     And  logs  large  enough  for  build- 


6  HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

ing  are  scarce  enough  already.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
we're  not  allowed  to  cut  these  ourselves  without  the 
Colonel's  permission." 

"  Haven't  met  him  yet,"  said  Devine  dryly. 
"Who's  he?" 

"  Colonel  Mowbray,  of  Allenwood  Grange." 

"  And  who's  Colonel  Mowbray  ?  And  where's  Al- 
lenwood Grange?" 

The  boy  seemed  nettled  by  the  twinkle  in  Devine's 
eyes,  but  Harding  noticed  that  pride  compelled  him  to 
hide  his  feelings. 

"  You  can't  cut  this  lumber  without  asking  leave ! 
Besides,  you're  spoiling  one  of  our  best  coyote  covers." 

"  Kyotes !  "  exclaimed  Devine.  "  What  do  you  do 
with  'em  ?  " 

The  youngster  stared  at  him  a  moment  in  disdain. 

"  We  have  a  pack  of  hounds  at  the  Grange,"  he  then 
condescended  to  answer. 

"  Hunt  them !  Well,  now,  that's  mighty  strange. 
I'd  have  thought  you'd  find  arsenic  cheaper.  Then  if 
you  were  to  lie  out  round  the  chicken-house  with  a 
gun " 

The  boy  cut  him  short. 

"If  you  want  these  logs,  you  must  ask  for  them. 
Shall  I  tell  the  Colonel  you  are  coming  to  do  so  ?  " 

"  Well,  sonny,"  drawled  Devine,  "  you  just  run 
along  home  and  send  somebody  grown-up.  We  might 
talk  to  him." 

"  As  it  happens,"  the  boy  said  with  great  dignity, 
"  Kenwyne  is  in  the  bluff.  I  must  warn  you  not  to 
touch  a  tree  until  you  see  him." 

Without  another  word  he  turned  and  rode  off. 


THE  PIONEERS  7 

During  the  conversation  Harding  had  been  studying 
him  closely.  The  well-bred  reserve  in  his  manner, 
which,  while  peremptory,  was  somehow  free  from  ar- 
rogance, compelled  the  man's  admiration. 

"  From  the  Old  Country,"  he  said  with  a  laugh, 
"  and  a  bit  high-handed,  but  there's  sand  in  him.  Do 
you  know  anything  about  Allenwood  ?  " 

"  Not  much,  but  I  heard  the  boys  talking  about  it 
at  the  railroad  store.  It's  a  settlement  of  high-toned 
Britishers  with  more  money  than  sense.  They  play  at 
farming  and  ride  round  the  country  on  pedigree 
horses." 

"  The  horse  the  boy  rode  was  certainly  a  looker ! " 
Harding  commented,  swinging  his  ax  once  more. 

As  it  sliced  out  a  chip  with  a  ringing  thud,  and  an- 
other, and  yet  another,  the  boy  returned,  accompanied 
by  a  well-mounted  older  man  with  a  sallow  face  and 
very  dark  eyes  and  a  languidly  graceful  air.  The  man 
was  plainly  dressed  but  he  wore  the  stamp  Harding  had 
noticed  on  the  youngster;  and  again  there  flashed 
through  Harding's  mind  the  half-indistinct  thought 
that  these  people  were  familiar  to  him. 

"  I  understand  that  you  insist  upon  cutting  this  tim- 
ber," Kenwyne  began. 

"  Yes,"  Harding  replied.  "  And  I  was  surprised 
when  your  friend  here  said  it  belonged  to  Colonel 
Mowbray." 

"  He  went  too  far,  but  it  does  belong  to  him  in  a 
sense.  The  Colonel  founded  the  settlement  when  very 
few  other  people  thought  of  leaving  Manitoba,  and  he 
had  the  usual  option  of  cutting  all  the  wood  he  wanted 
on  unoccupied  land.  We  have  always  got  it  here,  and 


8  HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

as  we  have  done  all  the  road-making  and  general  im- 
provements in  the  neighborhood,  we  have  come  to  look 
upon  it  as  our  own." 

"  Is  that  your  bridge  across  the  creek  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  it's  not  a  bad  job,  I  think.  We  had  a 
good  deal  of  trouble  digging  out  the  grade  in  the 
ravine." 

"  Well,  interfering  with  bridges  is  not  a  habit  of 
mine;  so  we'll  let  your  trail  stand.  But  I  could  make 
you  divert  it  to  the  proper  road  reserve." 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  Kenwyne.  "  That  sounds  sig- 
nificant." 

"  Precisely.  This  bluff  and  the  section  it  stands  on 
belong  to  me;  the  transfer  was  registered  at  the  land 
office  a  week  ago." 

"  Then  I  think  there's  nothing  more  to  be  said." 

"  Oh,"  Harding  responded  with  a  smile,  "  you  might 
tell  your  Colonel  that  when  he  wants  any  lumber  he 
may  cut  it  if  he'll  let  me  know!  " 

Kenwyne  laughed. 

"  Thanks !  "  he  said.  "  It's  a  generous  offer,  but  I 
can't  promise  that  Colonel  Mowbray  will  avail  himself 
of  your  permission.  I  wish  you  good  afternoon." 

He  rode  away  with  his  companion,  and  an  hour  later 
Harding  and  Devine  threw  their  axes  on  their  shoul- 
ders and  struck  out  across  the  prairie.  The  sun  had 
dipped,  the  air  was  getting  cool,  and  on  the  clean-cut 
western  horizon  a  soft  red  flush  faded  beneath  a  band 
of  vivid  green. 

At  the  foot  of  a  low  rise  the  men  stopped. 

"  I'll  be  around  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,"  De- 
vine  said. 

"  Then  you're  not  coming  to  supper?  " 


THE  PIONEERS  9 

"  No,"  Devine  answered  reluctantly ;  "  I  guess  not. 
I've  been  over  twice  this  week,  and  Hester  has  enough 
to  do  without  extra  cooking  for  me." 

"  As  you  wish,"  said  Harding,  and  they  separated 
in  a  friendly  manner. 

When  he  was  alone  Harding  went  on  briskly,  walk- 
ing with  an  elastic  step  and  looking  far  ahead  across 
the  shadowy  plain.  It  was  a  rich  land  that  stretched 
away  before  him,  and  a  compact  block  of  it  belonged 
to  him.  It  was  virgin  soil,  his  to  do  with  as  he  liked. 
He  thought  that  he  could  make  good  use  of  it ;  but  he 
had  no  illusions;  he  knew  all  about  prairie  farming, 
and  was  prepared  for  a  hard  struggle. 

Crossing  the  rise,  he  headed  for  a  glow  of  light  that 
flickered  in  the  gloom  of  a  small  birch  bluff,  and  pres- 
ently stopped  at  a  tent  pitched  among  the  trees.  Two 
big  red  oxen  were  grazing  by  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  a 
row  of  birch  logs  lay  among  the  grass  beside  a  pile  of 
ship-lap  boards,  and  some  more  of  the  boards  had  been 
roughly  built  into  a  pointed  shack.  In  front  of  this 
a  young  girl  bent  over  a  fire  that  burned  between  two 
logs.  All  round,  except  where  the  wood  broke  the 
yiew,  the  wilderness  rolled  away,  dim  and  silent. 

Hester  Harding  looked  up  with  a  smile  when  her 
brother  stopped.  She  resembled  him,  for  she  had  his 
direct,  thoughtful  glance  and  fine  proportions.  Her 
face  and  hands  were  browned  by  sun  and  wind,  but, 
although  she  had  worked  hard  from  childhood,  she 
wore  no  coarsening  stamp  of  toil.  Her  features  were 
good,  and  the  plain  print  dress  she  had  made  in  her 
scanty  spare  time  became  her. 

"  Tired,  Craig?  "  she  asked  in  a  pleasant  voice. 

"  Not  .quite  as  fresh  as  I  was  at  sun-up,"  Harding 


10          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

smiled.  "  We  got  through  a  good  deal  of  work  to- 
day and  I'll  soon  be  able  to  make  a  start  with  the  house. 
We'll  have  to  rush  the  framing  to  get  finished  before 
the  frost." 

While  they  ate  their  simple  supper  they  talked  about 
his  building  plans,  and  he  answered  her  questions  care- 
fully ;  for  Hester  had  keen  intelligence,  and  had  shared 
his  work  and  ambitions  for  the  past  few  years.  For 
the  most  part,  their  life  had  been  hard  and  frugal. 
Until  Craig  reached  the  age  of  eighteen,  he  had  helped 
his  father  to  cultivate  his  patch  of  wheat-soil  in  an  arid 
belt  of  North  Dakota.  Then  the  father  had  died, 
leaving  about  a  thousand  dollars  besides  his  land  and 
teams,  and  the  lad  had 'courageously  taken  up  the  task 
of  supporting  his  mother  and  sister.  Two  years  after- 
ward, Mrs.  Harding  died,  and  Craig,  at  the  age  of 
twenty,  set  himself  to  consider  the  future. 

During  his  management  of  the  farm  he  had  made 
more  money  than  his  father  had  ever  made,  but  the 
land  was  poor  and  incapable  of  much  improvement. 
On  the  other  hand,  Dakota  was  getting  settled  and 
homesteads  were  becoming  valuable,  and  Craig  deter- 
mined to  sell  out  and  invest  the  money  in  a  larger  hold- 
ing in  a  thinly  populated  part  of  Manitoba.  Hester 
went  with  him  to  Canada ;  and  when  the  advancing  tide 
of  settlement  reached  their  new  home,  Craig  sold  out 
again,  getting  much  more  than  he  had  paid  for  his 
land,  and  moved  west  ahead  of  the  army  of  prairie- 
breakers  which  he  knew  would  presently  follow  him. 
It  was  a  simple  plan,  but  it  needed  courage  and  re- 
sourcefulness. He  spoke  of  it  to  Hester  when  he 
lighted  his  pipe  after  the  meal. 

"  It  was  a  notion  of  Father's  that  one  should  try 


THE  PIONEERS  11 

to  anticipate  a  big  general  movement,"  he  remarked. 
"  '  Keep  a  little  in  front ;  the  pioneers  get  the  pickings,' 
he  once  told  me.  '  If  you  follow  the  main  body,  you'll 
find  the  land  swept  bare.'  He  had  a  way  of  saying 
things  like  that;  I  learned  a  good  deal  from  him." 

"  He  knew  a  good  deal,"  said  Hester  thoughtfully. 
"  He  was  more  clever  than  you  are,  Craig,  but  he 
hadn't  your  habit  of  putting  his  ideas  into  practise. 
I've  sometimes  thought  he  must  have  lost  heart  after 
some  big  trouble  long  ago,  and  only  made  an  effort 
now  and  then  for  Mother's  sake.  It's  strange  that  we 
know  nothing  about  him  except  that  he  came  from  the 
Old  Country." 

Craig  had  often  wondered  about  his  father,  for  the 
man  had  been  somewhat  of  an  enigma  to  him.  Basil 
Harding  had  lived  like  his  neighbors,  who  were  plain 
tillers  of  the  soil,  and  he  never  spoke  of  his  English 
origin,  but  now  and  then  he  showed  a  breadth  of 
thought  and  refinement  of  manner  that  were  not  in 
keeping  with  his  environment.  Mrs.  Harding  was  the 
daughter  of  a  Michigan  farmer,  a  shrewd  but  gentle 
woman  of  practical  turn  of  mind. 

"  I  wonder,"  Craig  said,  "  how  much  Mother 
knew?" 

"  She  must  have  known  something.  Once  or  twice, 
near  the  end,  I  think  she  meant  to  tell  us,  for  there 
was  something  troubling  her,  but  the  last  stroke  came 
so  suddenly,  and  she  never  spoke."  Hester  paused,  as 
if  lost  in  painful  memories,  and  then  went  on :  "  It 
was  very  strange  about  that  money  you  got." 

Craig  nodded.  When  he  was  twenty-one  a  Winni- 
peg lawyer  had  turned  over  to  him  five  thousand  dol- 
lars on  .condition  that  he  remain  in  Canada,  and  make 


12          HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

no  attempt  to  communicate  with  his  father's  relatives. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  And  something  happened  this 
afternoon  that  puzzled  me." 

He  told  Hester  about  his  meeting  with  the  men  from 
Allenwood. 

"  The  curious  thing  about  it,"  he  added,  "  is  that 
as  I  watched  the  boy  sitting  on  his  fine  blooded  horse 
and  heard  him  speak,  I  felt  as  if  I'd  once  lived  among 
high-toned  English  people  and  could  somehow  under- 
stand what  he  was  thinking.  But  of  course  I  never 
had  a  horse  like  his,  and  we  were  born  in  a  rough 
shack  on  a  poor  Dakota  farm.  Can  one  inherit  one's 
ancestors'  feelings  and  memories  ?  " 

"  It's  very  strange,"  mused  Hester. 

Harding  laughed. 

"  Well,  anyway,  I'm  a  farmer,"  he  said.  "  I  stand 
upon  my  own  feet  —  regardless  of  ancestors.  What 
I  am  is  what  I  make  of  myself !  " 

He  moved  off  toward  the  tent. 

"  It's  getting  late,"  he  called  back  to  her. 

But  for  a  long  time  Hester  sat  beside  the  sinking 
fire.  Her  brother,  whom  she  loved  and  admired,  dif- 
fered slightly,  but  noticeably  in  one  or  two  respects, 
from  any  of  the  prairie  farmers  she  had  known. 
Though  it  was  hard  to  procure  books,  he  had  read 
widely  and  about  other  subjects  than  agriculture. 
Odd  tricks  of  thought  and  speech  also  suggested  the 
difference;  but  she  knew  that  nobody  else  except  her 
mother  had  noticed  it,  for,  to  all  intents,  Craig  was 
merely  a  shrewd,  hard-working  grower  of  wheat. 

Then  the  girl's  face  grew  gentle  as  she  thought  of 
Fred  Devine.  He  had  proved  very  constant  and  had 
several  times  made  what  was  then  a  long  and  adven- 


THE  PIONEERS  13 

turous  journey  to  see  her.  Now,  when  his  father  had 
given  him  a  few  hundred  dollars,  he  had  followed 
Craig,  and  she  was  ready  to  marry  him  as  soon  as  he 
could  make  a  home  for  her.  At  present  he  was  living 
in  a  dug-out  in  a  bank,  and  must  harvest  his  first  crop 
before  he  could  think  about  a  house. 

When  the  fire  had  died  down  to  a  few  smoldering 
coals,  Hester  got  up  and  looked  about  her.  The  moon 
hung,  large  and  red,  above  the  prairie's  rim;  the  air 
was  sharp  and  wonderfully  exhilarating.  Behind  the 
tent  the  birch  leaves  rustled  softly  in  the  bluff,  and  in 
the  distance  a  coyote  howled.  There  was  no  other 
sound;  it  was  all  very  still  and  strangely  lonely;  but 
the  girl  felt  no  shrinking.  On  her  mother's  side  she 
sprang  from  a  race  of  pioneers,  and  her  true  work  was 
to  help  in  the  breaking  of  the  wilderness. 


CHAPTER  II 

PORTENTS   OF   CHANGE 

THE  moon  was  above  the  horizon  when  Kenwyne 
pulled  up  his  horse  to  a  walk  opposite  Allen- 
wood  Grange.  The  view  from  this  point  always 
appealed  to  the  artist  in  Kenwyne.  The  level  plain 
was  broken  here  by  steep,  sandy  rises  crowned  with 
jack-pines  and  clumps  of  poplar,  and  a  shallow  lake 
reached  out  into  the  open  from  their  feet.  A  short 
distance  back  from  its  shore,  the  Grange  stood  on  a 
gentle  slope,  with  a  grove  of  birches  that  hid  the  stables 
and  outbuildings  straggling  up  the  hill  behind. 

As  Kenwyne  saw  it  in  the  moonlight  across  the 
glittering  water,  the  house  was  picturesque.  In  the 
center  rose  a  square,  unpretentious  building  of  notched 
logs;  but  from  this  ship-lap  additions,  showing  archi- 
tectural taste,  stretched  out  in  many  wings,  so  that, 
from  a  distance,  the  homestead  with  its  wooded  back- 
ground had  something  of  the  look  of  an  old  English 
manor  house.  It  was  this  which  made  the  colonists 
of  Allenwood  regard  it  with  affection.  Now  it  was 
well  lighted,  and  the  yellow  glow  from  its  windows 
shone  cheerfully  across  the  lake. 

The  foundations  of  the  place  had  been  laid  in  un- 
settled times,  after  the  Hudson  Bay  fur-traders  had 
relinquished  their  control  of  the  trackless  West,  but 
before  the  Dominion  Government  had  established  its 

14 


PORTENTS  OF  CHANGE  15 

authority.  The  farmers  were  then  spreading  cau- 
tiously across  the  Manitoban  plain,  in  some  fear  of  the 
Metis  half-breeds,  and  it  was  considered  a  bold  ad- 
venture when  the  builder  of  the  Grange  pushed  far  out 
into  the  prairies  of  the  Assiniboine.  He  had  his  trou- 
bles, but  he  made  his  holding  good,  and  sold  it  to 
Colonel  Mowbray,  who  founded  the  Allenwood  settle- 
ment. 

On  the  whole,  the  colony  had  succeeded,  but  Ken- 
wyne  saw  that  it  might  become  an  anachorism  in 
changing  times.  He  had  noted  the  advance  of  the 
hard-bitten  homesteaders  who  were  settling  wherever 
the  soil  was  good,  and  who  were  marked  by  sternly 
utilitarian  methods  and  democratic  ideas.  Before  long 
Allenwood  must  cast  off  its  aristocratic  traditions  and 
compete  with  these  newcomers;  but  Kenwyne  feared 
that  its  founder  was  not  the  man  to  change. 

As  he  rode  slowly  past  the  lake,  a  man  came  toward 
him  with  a  gun  and  a  brace  of  prairie-chickens. 

"  Hello,  Ralph !  "  he  said.  "  Have  you  forgotten 
that  it's  council  night  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  likely  to  forget  after  the  rebuke  I  got  for 
missing  the  last  meeting,"  Kenwyne  replied.  "  Do 
you  happen  to  know  what  kind  of  temper  the  Colonel 
is  in,  Broadwood  ?  " 

"  My  opinion  is  that  it  might  be  better.  Gerald 
Mowbray  has  turned  up  again,  and  I've  noticed  that 
the  old  man  is  less  serene  than  usual  when  his  son's 
about.  In  fact,  as  we  have  to  bear  the  consequences, 
I  wish  the  fellow  would  stay  away." 

While  Broadwood  and  Kenwyne  were  discussing 
him  on  the  hillside,  Colonel  Mowbray  sat  in  his  study 
at  the  Grange,  talking  to  the  elder  of  his  two  sons. 


16         HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

The  room  was  small  and  plainly  furnished,  with  a  map 
of  the  territory  on  the  matchboarded  wall,  a  plain 
table  on  which  lay  a  few  bundles  of  neatly  docketed 
papers,  and  a  stove  in  one  corner.  Account-books 
rilled  a  shelf,  and  beneath  there  was  a  row  of  pigeon- 
holes. The  room  had  an  air  of  austere  simplicity  with 
which  Colonel  Mowbray's  appearance  harmonized. 

He  was  tall,  but  spare  of  flesh,  with  an  erect  car- 
riage and  an  autocratic  expression.  His  hair  was 
gray,  his  eyes  were  dark  and  keen,  and  his  mouth  was 
unusually  firm;  but  the  hollowness  of  his  face  and  the 
lines  on  his  forehead  showed  advancing  age.  He  was 
a  man  of  some  ability,  with  simple  tastes,  certain  un- 
changeable convictions,  and  a  fiery  temper.  Leaving 
the  army  with  a  grievance  which  he  never  spoke  about, 
and  being  of  too  restless  a  character  to  stay  at  home, 
he  had  founded  Allenwood  for  the  purpose  of  settling 
young  Englishmen  upon  the  land.  He  demanded  that 
they  be  well  born,  have  means  enough  to  make  a 
fair  start,  and  that  their  character  should  bear  strict 
investigation.  Though  the  two  latter  conditions  were 
not  invariably  complied  with,  his  scheme  had  pros- 
pered. Mowbray  was  generous,  and  had  taken  the 
sons  of  several  old  friends  who  did  not  possess  the 
capital  required;  while  the  discipline  he  enforced  had 
curbed  the  wayward.  For  the  most  part,  the  settlers 
regarded  him  with  affection  as  well  as  respect;  but  he 
had  failed  most  signally  with  his  own  son,  who  now 
stood  rather  awkwardly  before  him. 

After  serving  for  a  year  or  two  in  India  as  an 
engineer  lieutenant,  Gerald  Mowbray  met  with  an  acci- 
dent which  forced  him  to  leave  the  army.  He  made 
an  unsuccessful  start  on  another  career,  and  had  of 


PORTENTS  OF  CHANGE  17 

late  been  engaged  upon  a  Government  survey  of  the 
rugged  forest-belt  which  runs  west  to  the  confines  of 
the  Manitoban  plain.  He  was  a  handsome,  dark-com- 
plexioned man,  but  looked  slacker  and  less  capable  than 
his  father. 

"  I  think  five  hundred  pounds  would  clear  me,"  he 
said  in  an  apologetic  tone.  "  If  I  could  pay  off  these 
fellows,  it  would  be  a  great  relief,  and  I'd  faithfully 
promise  to  keep  clear  of  debt  in  future." 

"  It  seems  to  me  I've  heard  something  of  the  kind 
on  previous  occasions,"  Mowbray  returned  dryly. 
"  There's  a  weak  strain  in  you,  Gerald,  though  I  don't 
know  where  you  got  it.  I  suppose  a  thousand  pounds 
would  be  better  ?  " 

Gerald's  eyes  grew  eager;  but  the  next  moment  his 
face  fell,  for  he  knew  his  father's  methods,  and  saw 
his  ironical  smile. 

"  Well,"  he  said  cautiously,  "  I  could  straighten 
things  out  if  I  had  five  hundred." 

"  With  what  you  got  from  your  mother !  " 

Gerald  winced.  His  mother  never  refused  him, 
even  though  he  knew  that  it  often  meant  sacrifice  on 
her  part. 

"  To  save  our  name,"  Mowbray  said  sternly,  "  and 
for  that  reason  only,  I  am  going  to  let  you  have  three 
hundred  pounds.  But  I  warn  you,  it's  the  last  you'll 
get.  You  may  as  well  know  that  it  is  hard  to  spare 
this." 

Gerald  looked  his  surprise. 

"I  thought " 

Mowbray  interrupted  him. 

"  My  affairs  are  not  so  prosperous  as  they  seem ; 
but  I  rely  on  you  not  to  mention  the  fact.  Now  you 


i8          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

may  go.  But,  remember  —  there's  to  be  no  more 
money  thrown  away !  " 

When  Gerald  closed  the  door,  Mowbray  took  down 
one  of  his  account-books,  and  sat  still  for  a  long  time 
studying  it.  He  had  never  been  rich,  but  he  had  had 
enough,  and  as  the  settlement  grew  up  he  had  felt  justi- 
fied in  selling  to  newcomers,  at  moderate  prices,  land 
which  he  had  got  as  a  free  grant.  Now,  however,  the 
land  was  nearly  all  taken  up.  For  a  time  he  bred 
cattle,  but  this  had  scarcely  paid ;  then  the  development 
of  the  milling  industry  and  the  building  of  elevators 
rendered  wheat-growing  possible,  and  though  the  grain 
had  to  be  hauled  a  long  way,  Mowbray  made  a  small 
profit.  Prices,  however,  were  falling,  and  land  nearer 
the  railroad  was  coming  into  cultivation. 

With  a  gloomy  air,  Mowbray  closed  the  book  and 
went  down  to  preside  over  the  council  which  was  held 
periodically  and,  as  a  rule,  ended  in  an  evening  of  so- 
cial amusement. 

The  hall  was  large  and  square,  with  matchboarded 
walls  and  a  pointed  roof.  In  an  open  hearth  a  log 
fire  burned  cheerily,  although  two  large  windows  were 
opened  wide  to  let  in  the  September  air.  Bunches  of 
wheat  and  oats  of  unusual  growth  hung  upon  the  walls, 
suggesting  the  settlers'  occupation;  but  it  was  signifi- 
cant that  the  grain  was  surmounted  by  a  row  of  the 
heads  of  prairie  antelope,  as  well  as  moose  and  caribou 
from  the  North.  They  were  farmers  at  Allenwood, 
but  they  were  sportsmen  first. 

About  a  dozen  men  were  sitting  round  a  table  when 
Mowbray  entered,  but  they  rose  and  waited  until  he 
took  his  place.  They  varied  in  age  from  twenty  to 
forty,  and  in  their  easy  manners  and  natural  grace  one 


PORTENTS  OF  CHANGE  19 

recognized  the  stamp  of  birth.  Evening  dress  was  not 
the  rule  at  Allenwood,  and  while  some  wore  white 
shirts  and  city  clothes,  others  were  attired  picturesquely 
in  red-laced  blue  vests  and  fringed  deerskin.  Their 
brown  faces  and  athletic  figures  indicated  a  healthy 
life  in  the  open,  but  they  had  too  gallant  and  careless 
an  air  for  toilers. 

A  few  suggestions  for  the  improvement  of  the  trails 
were  made  and  discussed;  and  then  Mowbray  turned 
to  Kenwyne,  who  had  spent  the  afternoon  looking  for 
suitable  logs  for  the  bridge-stringers. 

"Did  you  and  Lance  find  anything?"  Mowbray 
asked. 

Kenwyne  was  waiting  for  this  opening  to  make 
what  he  felt  was  an  important  announcement. 

"  We  went  to  the  bluff,"  he  said.  "  What  we  found 
was  two  homesteaders  cutting  down  all  the  best  trees." 

"  Homesteaders ! " 

Mowbray  frowned  and  the  others  looked  interested. 

"  You  warned  them  off,  of  course !  " 

"  Lance  did.  But  one  of  the  fellows  retorted  that 
the  timber  was  his." 

"  Impossible !  "  Mowbray  said  sharply.  "  The  near- 
est preemption  is  six  miles  off  —  and  that's  too  close !  " 

"  It  appears  that  the  man  has  just  bought  the  sec- 
tion on  our  western  range-line.  He  referred  me  to 
the  land  register,  if  I  had  any  doubt.  I'm  afraid  you 
must  take  it  for  granted,  sir,  that  we  are  going  to  have 
neighbors." 

"  Never !  "  Mowbray  brought  his  fist  down  on  the 
table  with  a  resounding  blow.  "  We  may  not  be  able 
to  turn  out  these  intruders,  but  I  decline  to  consider 
them  neighbors  of  ours."  He  turned  to  the  others. 


20          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  You  must  see  that  this  is  disturbing  news.  We  came 
here  to  live  in  accordance  with  the  best  English  tra- 
ditions, and  although  we  had  to  put  up  with  some 
hardships,  there  were  compensations  —  abundant  sport, 
space,  and  freedom.  In  a  sense,  the  country  was  ours, 
with  its  wood  and  water,  as  far  as  we  cared  to  ride. 
Now  every  homestead  that  is  built  restricts  what  we 
have  regarded,  with  some  justice,  as  our  rights.  We 
took  heavy  risks  in  settling  here  when  people  believed 
it  was  economically  impossible  to  farm  at  Allenwood." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  approval. 

"  These  fellows  will  put  an  end  to  our  running 
range  horses  and  cattle,"  one  man  said.  "If  many  of 
them  come  into  the  district,  we  may  have  to  put  down 
the  coyote  hounds,  and  ask  permission  before  we  course 
a  jack-rabbit.  Then  they  could  make  us  divert  our 
trails  to  the  road  reserves." 

"  Something  of  that  kind  may  happen,"  Kenwyne 
interposed.  "  But  the  fellow  I  met  seemed  inclined  to 
be  friendly.  Said  he'd  let  our  trail  stand  and  we 
might  cut  what  wood  we  wanted,  provided  we  get  his 
permission." 

Mowbray  drew  himself  up  haughtily. 

"  Although  you  recognize  the  lesser  drawbacks,"  he 
said,  "  I'm  afraid  you  miss  the  most  important  point. 
I  must  remind  you  that  this  settlement  was  founded 
to  enable  a  certain  stamp  of  Englishmen  to  enjoy  a 
life  that  was  becoming  more  difficult  without  large 
means  at  home.  A  man  with  simple  tastes  could  find 
healthy  occupation  out  of  doors,  keep  a  good  horse, 
and  get  as  much  shooting  as  he  wanted.  So  long  as 
his  farming  covered,  or  nearly  covered,  his  expenses, 


PORTENTS  OF  CHANGE  21 

that  was  all  that  was '  required.  We  have  not  dis- 
couraged the  making  of  money,  but  I  must  frankly  say 
that  this  was  not  our  object.  Now  I  see  threats  of 
change.  We  may  be  brought  into  contact,  and  per- 
haps into  opposition,  with  men  whose  motives  are  dif- 
ferent. Their  coming  here  has  to  me  a  sinister  mean- 
ing." 

"  Allenwood  has  been  a  success,"  said  Broadwood ; 
"  one  can't  deny  it  —  but  I  think  we  owe  a  good  deal 
to  our  having  settled  in  a  new  and  undeveloped  coun- 
try. The  experiment  turned  out  well  because  we  got 
the  land  cheap  and  wheat  was  dear.  Now  I  foresee  a 
sharp  fall  in  prices,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  we  may 
have  to  revise  our  methods  to  suit  the  times.  In 
future,  we  may  find  it  difficult  to  live  upon  our  farms 
unless  we  work  them  properly.  I'm  afraid  we  can't 
stand  still  while  Canada  moves  on  —  and  I'm  not  sure 
that  it's  a  great  misfortune." 

"Do  you  admire  modern  methods?"  somebody 
asked.  "If  you  do,  you'd  better  study  what  things 
are  coming  to  in  America  and  England.  There  is  not 
a  hired  man  at  Allenwood  who  is  not  on  first-rate 
terms  with  his  master;  do  you  want  to  under-pay  and 
over-drive  them  or,  on  the  other  hand,  to  have  them 
making  impossible  demands,  and  playing  the  mischief 
by  a  harvest  strike  ?  I  agree  with  our  respected  leader 
that  we  don't  want  to  change." 

"  But  tell  us  about  these  intruders,"  Mowbray  said 
to  Kenwyne.  "  What  sort  of  men  are  they  ?  " 

"  Well,  first  of  all,  they're  workers ;  there's  no  mis- 
taking that.  And  I'd  judge  that  they  came  from  the 
States  —  Dakota,  perhaps." 


22         HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  That  is  to  say,  they're  hustlers !  "  a  lad  broke  in. 
"  Couldn't  we  buy  them  out  before  they  get  started, 
sir?" 

"  It  would  cost  us  something  to  buy  a  section,  and 
we  would  have  to  work  part  of  it  to  pay  the  new  taxes. 
Then  the  fellows  would  probably  find  out  that  it  was 
an  easy  way  of  getting  a  good  price ;  and  we  couldn't 
keep  on  buying  them  out.  We  have  all  the  land  we 
want,  and  must  be  careful  whom  we  allow  to  join  us." 

"  I  think  we  should  try  to  keep  an  open  mind," 
Kenwyne  suggested.  "  It  might  pay  us  to  watch  the 
men  and  see  what  they  can  teach  us.  Sooner  or  later 
we  shall  have  to  improve  our  farming,  and  we  may 
as  well  begin  it  gradually.  After  all,  it's  something 
to  gather  two  bushels  of  wheat  where  only  one  grew." 

Mowbray  looked  at  him  sternly. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  see  you  and  Broadwood  taking  this 
line,  Ralph;  but  I've  long  suspected  that  your  views 
were  not  quite  sound.  Frankly,  I'm  afraid  of  the  thin 
end  of  the  wedge."  He  turned  to  the  others.  "  You 
will  understand  that  there  can  be  no  compromise.  We 
shall  continue  to  live  as  English  gentlemen  and  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  grasping  commercialism  that 
is  getting  a  dangerous  hold  on  the  older  countries.  I 
will  do  my  best  to  keep  Allenwood  free  from  it  while 
I  have  the  power." 

"  Whatever  my  private  opinions  are,  I  think  you 
know  you  can  rely  on  my  loyal  support  in  all  you  do 
for  the  good  of  the  settlement,  sir,"  Kenwyne  replied. 
"  Now  that  we  have  the  matter  before  us,  it  might  be 
well  if  you  told  us  how  we  are  to  treat  these  Ameri- 
cans. We're  bound  to  meet  them." 

"  I  cannot  suggest  discourtesy,  since  it  would  be 


PORTENTS  OF  CHANGE  23 

foreign  to  your  character  and  against  our  traditions; 
but  I  do  not  wish  you  to  become  intimate  with  them." 

When  the  meeting  broke  up  an  hour  later,  Broad- 
wood  walked  home  with  Kenwyne.  It  was  a  small 
and  unpretentious  house  that  perched  on  the  hillside 
beyond  the  lake,  but  the  room  the  men  entered  was 
comfortably  furnished.  A  few  photographs  of  officers 
in  uniform,  the  football  team  of  a  famous  public 
school,  and  the  crew  of  an  Oxford  racing  boat,  hung 
on  the  pine-board  walls. 

"  We  must  have  a  talk,"  said  Kenwyne.  "  I  feel 
that  these  fellows'  settling  here  is  important ;  it's  bound 
to  make  a  difference.  I  know  the  type;  one  can't  ig- 
nore them.  They'll  have  to  be  reckoned  with,  as 
friends  or  enemies." 

"  In  spite  of  the  Colonel's  opinion,  I  believe  their 
influence  will  be  for  good.  What  Allenwood  needs 
most  is  waking  up."  Broadwood  laughed.  "  It's 
curious  that  we  should  agree  on  this.  Of  course,  my 
marriage  is  supposed  to  account  for  my  perversion; 
but  one  can  understand  Mowbray's  painful  surprise  at 
you.  Your  views  ought  to  be  sound." 

"  What  is  a  sound  view  ?  " 

"  At  Allenwood,  it's  a  view  that  agrees  with  Mow- 
bray's." 

"  Let's  be  serious,"  Kenwyne  replied.  "  There's 
something  to  be  said  for  his  contention,  after  all.  We 
have  got  along  pretty  well  so  far." 

"  Yes ;  but  the  settlement  has  never  been  self-sup- 
porting. Mowbray  got  the  land  for  nothing  and  sold 
it  in  parcels,  as  he  was  entitled  to  do,  spending  part  of 
the  price  on  improvements  from  which  we  all  benefit. 
Then  a.  number  of  the  boys  got  drafts  from  home  when 


24         HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

they  lost  a  crop.  We  have  been  living  on  capital  in- 
stead of  on  revenue;  but  the  time  is  coming  when  this 
must  stop.  Our  people  at  home  can't  keep  on  finan- 
cing us,  and  the  land  is  nearly  all  taken  up." 

"Well,  what  follows?" 

"Allenwood  will  shortly  have  to  earn  its  living," 
Broadwood  answered,  laughing.  "  This  will  be  a 
shock  to  some  of  our  friends,  but  even  with  wheat 
going  down  the  thing  shouldn't  prove  insuperably  diffi- 
cult." 

"  We  may  have  wheat  at  less  than  a  dollar.  Look 
at  the  quantity  of  good  land  that's  available,  and  the 
character  of  the  men  who're  coming  in.  They'll  live 
on  revenue,  in  dug-outs  and  fifty-dollar  shacks,  and 
all  they  don't  spend  on  food  will  go  into  new  teams 
and  implements.  They  don't  expect  an  easy  time,  and 
won't  get  it,  but  we'll  have  to  meet  their  competition. 
Personally,  I  don't  think  that's  impossible.  I  believe 
we're  their  equals  in  brain  and  muscle." 

"  We  used  to  think  we  were  superior,"  Broadwood 
smiled.  "  Our  conservative  sentiments  will  be  our 
greatest  difficulty." 

"  I'm  afraid  we'll  have  to  get  rid  of  them." 

"  Mowbray  will  never  throw  his  traditions  over- 
board." 

"  No.     I  see  trouble  ahead,"  said  Kenwyne. 

"  It's  an  awkward  situation,  I'll  admit.  Instead  of 
Mowbray's  leading  us,  we'll  have  to  carry  him  along, 
so  to  speak,  without  his  knowing  it.  As  he's  not  a 
fool,  the  thing  may  need  more  tact  than  we're  capable 
of.  For  all  that,  he  must  remain  leader." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Kenwyne  simply.  "  He  made 
Allenwood.  We  must  stick  to  him." 


Long  after  Broadwood  had  gone,  Kenwyne  stood  at 
the  door  of  his  house,  looking  out  over  the  lake. 
There  was  no  wind,  and  the  prairie  was  very  silent. 
Stretching  back  in  the  moonlight  to  the  horizon,  its 
loneliness  was  impressive;  but  Kenwyne  was  not  de- 
ceived. He  knew  that  the  tide  of  population  and 
progress  had  already  passed  its  boundaries  and  was 
flowing  fast  up  every  channel,  following  the  railroad, 
the  rivers,  and  the  fur-traders'  trails.  It  would  wash 
away  the  old  landmarks  and  undermine  every  barrier 
that  Mowbray  could  raise.  Kenwyne  wondered  what 
would  happen  when  Allenwood  was  surrounded  by  the 
flood.  After  all,  it  depended  upon  the  settlers  whether 
the  inundation  proved  destructive  or  fertilizing. 


CHAPTER  III 

AT    THE    FORD 

A  FEW  days  after  the  council,  Beatrice,  Colonel 
•**•  Mowbray's  only  daughter,  sat  talking  with  her 
mother  in  the  drawing-room  at  the  Grange.  Beatrice 
had  returned  on  the  previous  evening  from  a  visit  to 
England,  and  it  struck  her,  perhaps  by  contrast  with 
the  homes  of  her  mother's  friends,  that  the  room  had 
a  dingy,  cheerless  look.  The  few  pieces  of  good  fur- 
niture which  Mowbray  had  brought  with  him  had  suf- 
fered during  transport  and  showed  signs  of  age;  the 
others,  sent  out  from  Toronto,  were  crudely  new. 
Rugs  and  curtains  were  faded,  and  there  were  places 
that  had  been  carefully  mended.  The  matchboarded 
walls  looked  very  bare.  More  than  all,  it  struck  the 
girl  that  her  mother  seemed  listless  and  worn. 

Mrs.  Mowbray  was  a  gentle,  reserved  woman.  She 
was  still  beautiful,  but  the  years  she  had  spent  upon 
the  prairie  had  left  their  mark  on  her.  She  had  lost 
her  former  vivacity  and  something  of  her  independence 
of  thought;  and,  except  to  those  who  knew  her  well, 
her  character  seemed  colorless.  Mowbray  was  consid- 
erate of  his  wife,  but  there  was  no  room  under  his 
roof  for  two  directing  wills  or  more  than  one  set  of 
opinions.  For  all  that,  Mrs.  Mowbray  wore  an  air  of 
quiet  dignity. 

Beatrice  had  a  trace  of  her  father's  imperious  tem- 

26 


AT  THE  FORD  27 

per.  She  looked  very  fresh,  for  a  life  spent  largely  out 
of  doors  had  given  her  a  vigorous,  graceful  carriage 
as  well  as  a  fine,  warm  color,  and  had  set  a  sparkle  in 
her  deep-blue  eyes.  There  was  a  hint  of  determination 
about  her  mouth,  and  her  glance  was  often  proud. 
She  was  just  twenty-two,  and  the  fashionable  English 
dress  set  off  her  gracefully  outlined  and  rather  slender 
figure. 

As  she  looked  at  her  mother  her  face  grew  thought- 
ful. 

"  You  are  not  looking  well,  Mother  dear,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  not  ill,"  Mrs.  Mowbray  answered  in  a  tired 
voice.  "  It  has  been  a  very  hot  and  trying  summer, 
and  the  crop  was  poor.  That  had  its  effect  upon  your 
father.  Then  you  have  heard  that  Gerald " 

There  was  a  quick,  indignant  flash  in  Beatrice's  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  know !  Of  course,  I  stand  up  for  him  to 
outsiders,  but  I'm  getting  ashamed  of  Gerald.  His 
debts  must  have  been  a  heavy  tax  on  Father.  I  think 
that  too  much  has  been  done  for  the  boys.  I  have 
nothing  to  complain  of;  but  we're  not  rich,  and  I'm 
afraid  you  have  had  to  suffer." 

"  My  dear,  you  mustn't  question  your  father's  judg- 
ment." 

Beatrice  smiled. 

"  I  suppose  not,  and  my  criticism  would  certainly  be 
wasted;  still,  you  can't  expect  me  to  have  your  pa- 
tience." 

She  went  to  one  of  the  long  windows  in  the  draw- 
ing-room and  threw  it  open  wide. 

"  How  I  love  the  prairie ! "  she  exclaimed,  looking; 
out  over  the  vast  plain  that  stretched  away  to  a  sky 
all  rose, and  purple  and  gold. 


28         HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

A  tired  smile  crept  into  her  mother's  face. 

"  It  has  its  charm,"  she  said ;  "  but,  after  all,  you 
have  been  away  at  school,  and  have  not  seen  much 
of  it.  One  has  to  do  without  so  much  here,  and  when 
you  have  gone  through  an  unvarying  round  of  duties 
day  after  day  for  years,  seeing  only  the  same  few  peo- 
ple and  hearing  the  same  opinions,  you  find  it  dreary. 
One  longs  to  meet  clever  strangers  and  feel  the  stir 
and  bustle  of  life  now  and  then;  but  instead  there 
comes  another  care  or  a  fresh  responsibility.  You 
don't  realize  yet  what  a  bad  harvest  or  a  fall  in  the 
wheat  market  means;  for,  while  the  men  have  their 
troubles,  in  a  settlement  like  Allenwood,  the  heaviest 
burden  falls  upon  the  women." 

"  You  must  have  had  to  give  up  a  good  deal  to 
come  here,"  Beatrice  said. 

"  I  loved  your  father,  and  I  knew  that  he  could 
not  be  happy  in  England,"  was  the  simple  answer. 

Beatrice  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  It  was  the 
first  time  she  had  understood  the  sacrifice  her  mother 
had  made,  and  she  was  moved  to  sympathy.  Then, 
in  the  flighty  manner  of  youth,  she  changed  the  sub- 
ject. 

"  Oh,  I  must  tell  you  about  dear  Mr.  Morel ! " 
Catching  an  alert  look  in  her  mother's  eyes,  Beatrice 
laughed.  Then,  with  a  quick,  impulsive  movement, 
she  crossed  the  floor,  took  her  mother's  face  between 
both  her  hands,  and  kissed  it.  "  No,"  she  answered 
the  question  that  had  not  been  spoken;  "  Mr.  Morel  is 
a  lovely  old  man  who  lives  all  alone,  with  just  his 
servants,  at  Ash  Garth,  in  a  fine  old  house  full  of  art 
treasures  that  seem  to  have  been  collected  from  all 
over  the  world.  And  there's  a  rose  garden  between 


AT  THE  FORD  29 

the  lawn  and  the  river,  and  a  big  woods  all  round. 
Mr.  Morel  is  charming,  and  he  was  particularly  kind 
to  me,  because  he  and  Uncle  Gordon  are  such  great 
friends." 

"  Did  you  see  much  of  him?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  and  I  like  him.  But,  Mother,"  Beatrice 
lowered  her  voice  dramatically,  "  there's  a  mystery  in 
his  life.  I'm  sure  of  it!  I  asked  Uncle  Gordon;  but 
if  he  knew  he  wouldn't  tell.  Then  I  tried  to  question 
Mr.  Morel " 

"Why,  Beatrice!" 

The  girl  laughed  at  her  mother's  shocked  tone. 

"  Don't  worry,  Mother  dear.  He  didn't  know  I 
was  questioning  him.  And  I  do  love  a  mystery !  All 
I  learned  was  that  it  has  something  to  do  with  Canada. 
Whenever  I  talked  about  the  prairie  he  looked  so  sad, 
and  once  I  even  thought  I  saw  tears  in  his  eyes." 

Beatrice's  brows  came  together  in  a  perplexed  frown ; 
then  she  laughed  gently. 

"  Mysteries  have  a  fascination  for  me,"  she  said ; 
"  I  like  to  puzzle  them  out.  But  I  must  leave  you  now ; 
for  I  promised  to  go  see  Evelyn  this  afternoon.  I 
may  not  get  home  until  late." 

Half  an  hour  later  Beatrice  was  in  the  saddle  riding 
across  the  bare  sweep  of  prairie  to  one  of  the  distant 
homesteads.  When  she  reached  the  river,  the  stream 
was  turbid  and  running  fast,  but  a  narrow  trail  through 
the  poplars  on  its  bank  led  to  the  ford,  and  she  urged 
her  horse  into  it  fearlessly.  On  the  other  side  the 
trail  was  very  faint,  and  a  stake  upon  a  rise  indicated 
where  the  crossing  was  safe.  A  large  grass  fire  was1 
burning  some  miles  away,  for  a  tawny  cloud  of  smoke 
trailed  across  the  plain. 


30          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

Beatrice  spent  a  pleasant  hour  with  her  friend  and 
started  home  alone  as  dusk  was  falling.  The  sky  was 
clear,  and  the  moon  hung  some  distance  above  the 
horizon.  A  cold  breeze  had  sprung  up,  and  the  grass 
fire  had  grown  fiercer.  Beatrice  could  see  it  stretching 
toward  the  river  in  a  long  red  line;  and  after  a  while 
she  rode  into  the  smoke.  It  grew  thicker  and  more 
acrid;  she  could  not  see  her  way;  and  her  horse  was 
getting  frightened.  When  an  orange  glare  leaped  up 
not  far  away,  the  animal  broke  into  a  gallop,  pulling 
hard,  and  after  some  trouble  in  stopping  it  Beatrice 
changed  her  direction.  She  was  not  afraid  of  prairie 
fires,  which,  as  a  rule,  can  be  avoided  easily,  but  this 
one  would  necessitate  her  making  a  round. 

She  found  it  difficult  to  get  out  of  the  smoke,  and 
when  she  reached  the  river  it  was  at  some  distance 
above  the  stake.  She  could  not  ride  back,  because  the 
fire  was  moving  up  from  that  direction,  cutting  her 
off.  She  glanced  dubiously  at  the  water.  It  ran  fast 
between  steep,  timber-covered  banks.  She  did  not 
think  she  could  get  down  to  it,  and  she  knew  there 
was  only  one  safe  ford.  Still,  she  could  not  spend  the 
night  upon  the  wrong  bank,  and  the  fire  was  drawing 
closer  all  the  time.  Worse  still,  her  horse  was  becom- 
ing unmanageable.  She  rode  upstream  for  a  mile; 
but  the  river  looked  deep,  and  the  eddies  swirled  in 
a  forbidding  way ;  the  bank  was  abrupt  and  rotten,  and 
Beatrice  dared  not  attempt  it.  In  front,  the  moon, 
which  was  getting  higher,  threw  a  clear  light  upon  the 
water;  behind,  the  smoke  rolled  up  thickly  to  meet 
her.  The  fire  was  closing  in  upon  the  stream.  With 
his  nostrils  filled  with  the  sting  of  the  smoke,  the 
horse  reared  and  threatened  to  dash  over  the  crumbling 


AT  THE  FORD  31 

bank.  Beatrice,  realizing  her  danger,  turned  him  back 
downstream  and  gave  him  the  rein. 

She  did  not  hope  to  reach  the  ford  —  there  was  a 
wall  of  impenetrable  fire  and  smoke  between  her  and 
the  stake;  she  could  not  attempt  the  river  where  the 
bank  was  so  steep  and  the  current  so  swift. 

With  her  own  eyes  smarting,  and  her  breathing  dif- 
ficult, Beatrice  suddenly  leaned  forward  and  patted 
the  trembling  horse.  He  had  not  been  able  to  run  far 
with  his  lungs  full  of  smoke,  and  he  had  now  stopped 
in  a  moment  of  indecision. 

"  Good  boy!  "  she  coaxed,  in  a  voice  that  was  not 
quite  steady.  "  Go  a  little  farther,  and  then  we'll  try 
the  river." 

"Hello!"  came  out  of  the  darkness;  and  through 
the  acrid  haze  she  saw  a  man  running  toward  her. 

She  hailed  him  eagerly;  but  when  he  reached  her 
she  was  somewhat  disconcerted  to  notice  that  he  was 
not,  as  she  had  expected,  one  of  the  Allen  wood  settlers. 

She  saw  that  he  was  waiting  for  her  to  speak. 

"  I  want  to  get  across,  and  the  fire  has  driven  me 
from  the  ford,"  she  said. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  " 

"  To  the  Grange." 

"  By  your  leave !  " 

He  took  the  bridle  and  moved  along  the  bank,  though 
he  had  some  trouble  with  the  frightened  horse.  When 
they  had  gone  a  few  yards  he  turned  toward  an  awk- 
ward slope. 

"  Is  this  crossing  safe  ?  "  Beatrice  asked  in  alarm. 

"  It's  not  good,"  he  answered  quietly.  "  I  can  take 
you  through." 

Beatrice  did  not  know  what  gave  her  confidence,  be- 


32          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

cause  the  ford  looked  dangerous,  but  she  let  him  lead 
the  stumbling  horse  down  to  the  water.  The  next 
moment  the  man  was  wading  knee-deep,  and  the  stream 
frothed  about  the  horse's  legs.  The  current  was  swift 
and  the  smoke  was  thick  and  biting,  but  the  man  went 
steadily  on,  and  they  were  some  distance  from  the  bank 
when  he  turned  to  her. 

"Pick  up  your  skirt,"  he  said  bluntly;  "it  gets 
steeper." 

Beatrice  laughed  in  spite  of  her  danger.  The  man 
certainly  did  not  waste  words. 

When  they  were  nearly  across,  the  moon  was  sud- 
denly hidden  behind  a  dark  cloud,  and  at  that  moment 
the  horse  lost  its  footing  and  made  a  frantic  plunge. 
Beatrice  gasped.  But  her  fright  was  needless,  for  her 
companion  had  firm  control  of  the  animal,  and  in  an- 
other few  moments  they  were  struggling  up  the  bank. 

As  they  left  the  timber  and  came  out  of  the  smoke, 
into  the  broad  moonlight,  she  told  him  to  stop,  for  the 
saddle  had  slipped  in  climbing  the  bank.  Then,  for 
the  first  time,  they  saw  each  other  clearly. 

He  was  a  big  man,  with  a  quiet  brown  face,  and 
Beatrice  noticed  his  start  of  swift,  half-conscious  ad- 
miration as  he  looked  up  at  her.  It  caused  her  no 
embarrassment,  because  she  had  seen  that  look  on  the 
faces  of  other  men,  and  knew  that  she  was  pretty ;  but 
she  failed  to  estimate  the  effect  of  her  beauty  on  a  man 
unaccustomed  to  her  type.  Sitting  with  easy  grace 
upon  the  splendid  horse,  she  had  a  curiously  patrician 
air.  He  noticed  her  fine  calm,  the  steadiness  of  her 
deep-blue  eyes,  and  the  delicate  chiseling  of  her  fea- 
tures; indeed,  he  never  forgot  the  picture  she  made, 


AT  THE  FORD  33 

with  the  poplars  for  a  background  and  the  moonlight 
on  her  face. 

"  Thank  you ;  I'm  afraid  you  got  very  wet,"  she 
said.  "  I  know  my  way  now." 

"  You  can't  ride  on,"  he  answered.  "  The  cinch 
buckle's  drawn." 

"Oh!" 

"  You'd  better  come  on  to  my  place.  My  sister  will 
look  after  you  while  I  fix  it."  He  smiled  as  he  added : 
"Miss  Mowbray,  I  presume?  You  may  have  heard 
of  me  —  Craig  Harding,  from  the  section  just  outside 
your  line." 

"  Oh !  "  Beatrice  repeated.  "  I  didn't  know  we  had 
neighbors;  I  have  been  away.  Have  you  met  any  of 
the  Allenwood  people?  " 

"  A  sallow-faced  man  with  dark  eyes." 

"  Kenwyne,"  said  Beatrice.  "  He's  worth  know- 
ing. Anybody  else  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  lad  with  him ;  about  eighteen,  riding 
a  gray  horse." 

"  Yes;  my  brother  Lance." 

Harding  laughed  softly. 

"  That's  all,"  he  said;  "  and  our  acquaintance  didn't 
go  very  far." 

Beatrice  wondered  at  his  amusement,  and  she  gave 
him  a  curious  glance.  He  was  dressed  in  old  brown 
overalls,  and  she  thought  he  had  something  of  the 
look  of  the  struggling  farmers  she  had  seen  in  Mani- 
toba, hard-bitten  men  who  had  come  from  the  bush  of 
Ontario,  but  there  was  a  difference,  though  she  could 
not  tell  exactly  where  it  lay.  Harding' s  clothes  were 
old  and  plain,  and  she  could  see  that  he  worked  with 


34         HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

his  hands,  yet  there  was  something  about  him  which 
suggested  a  broader  mind  and  more  culture  than  she 
associated  with  the  rude  preemptors.  Then,  though 
he  was  curt,  his  intonation  was  unusually  clean. 

She  asked  him  a  few  questions  about  his  farm,  which 
he  answered  pleasantly.  They  were  walking  side  by 
side  along  one  of  the  prairie  trails,  and  he  was  leading 
the  horse.  The  breeze  had  fallen  and  the  night  was 
unusually  still,  broken  only  by  a  coyote  calling  insist- 
ently to  his  mate ;  the  wide,  bare  prairie  ahead  of  therm 
lay  bathed  in  moonlight. 

Presently  a  light  twinkled  across  the  plain ;  and  Bea- 
trice welcomed  it,  because,  in  spite  of  the  precautions 
she  had  taken,  her  long  skirt  was  wet  and  uncomfort- 
able. 

When  they  reached  the  camp  they  found  Hester" 
busy  cooking  at  a  fire.  Behind  her  stood  a  rude  board 
shelter  and  a  tent,  and  farther  off  the  skeleton  of  a 
house  rose  from  the  grass. 

Beatrice  studied  Hester  Harding  with  interest. 
Though  she  found  her  simply  dressed,  with  sleeves 
rolled  back  and  hands  smeared  with  flour,  the  prairie 
girl  made  a  favorable  impression  on  her.  She  liked 
the  sensitive,  grave  face,  and  the  candid,  thoughtful 
look. 

While  the  girth  was  being  mended,  the  girls  talked 
beside  the  fire.  Then  Harding  saddled  his  own  horse, 
and  he  and  Beatrice  rode  off  across  the  prairie.  When 
the  lights  of  the  Grange  were  visible  he  turned  back; 
and  soon  afterward  Beatrice  was  laughingly  relating 
her  adventure  to  her  mother  and  Lance. 

"  So  it  was  Harding  who  helped  you ! "  Lance  ex- 
claimed. "  I  made  a  rather  bad  blunder  in  talking  to 


AT  THE  FORD  35 

him  the  other  day  —  told  him  he  mustn't  cut  some  tim- 
ber which  it  seems  was  his.  But,  I  must  say,  he  was 
rather  decent  about  it." 

He  looked  at  his  sister  curiously,  and  then  laughed. 

"  On  the  whole,"  he  added,  as  she  started  up  the 
stairs,  "  it  might  be  better  not  to  say  anything  about 
your  little  experience  to  the  Colonel.  I'm  inclined  to 
think  it  might  not  please  him." 

Beatrice  saw  that  her  mother  agreed  with  Lance, 
and  she  was  somewhat  curious ;  but  she  went  on  up  to 
her  room  without  asking  any  questions. 

She  began  to  feel  interested  in  Harding. 


THE   OPENING   OF   THE   RIFT 

A  WEEK  after  his  meeting  with  Beatrice  Mow- 
bray,  Harding  went  out  one  morning  to  plow. 
He  was  in  a  thoughtful  mood,  but  it  was  characteristic 
that  he  did  not  allow  his  reflections  to  interfere  with 
his  work.  His  house  was  unfinished,  and  the  nights 
were  getting  cold;  but  neither  Hester  nor  he  placed 
personal  comfort  first,  and  there  was  a  strip  of  land 
that  must  be  broken  before  the  frost  set  in. 

It  was  a  calm  morning  and  bright  sunshine  poured 
down  upon  the  grass  that  ran  back,  growing  faintly 
blue  in  the  distance,  until  it  faded  into  the  mellow  haze 
that  shut  in  the  wide  circle  of  prairie.  Here  and  there 
the  smooth  expanse  was  broken  by  small,  gleaming 
ponds  and  wavy  lines  of  timber  picked  out  in  delicate 
shades  of  indigo  and  gray,  but  the  foreground  was 
steeped  in  strong  color.  Where  the  light  struck  it, 
the  withered  grass  shone  like  silver;  elsewhere  it  was 
streaked  with  yellow  and  cinnamon.  The  long  fur- 
rows traced  across  it  were  a  rich  chocolate-brown,  and 
the  turned-back  clods  had  patches  of  oily  brightness  on 
their  faces.  The  leaves  in  a  neighboring  bluff  formed 
spots  of  cadmium;  and  even  the  big  breaker  plow, 
painted  crude  green  and  vermilion,  did  not  seem  out 
of  place.  It  was  a  new  implement,  the  best  that 
Harding  could  buy,  and  two  brawny  red  oxen  hauled 

36 


THE  OPENING  OF  THE  RIFT        37 

it  along.  Oxen  are  economical  to  feed  and  have  some 
advantages  in  the  first  stages  of  breaking  land,  but 
Harding  meant  to  change  them  for  Clydesdale  horses 
and  experiment  with  mechanical  traction.  He  used 
the  old  methods  where  they  paid,  but  he  believed  in 
progress. 

As  he  guided  the  slowly  moving  beasts  and  watched 
the  clods  roll  back,  his  brown  face  was  grave;  for  he 
had  been  troubled  during  the  past  seven  days.  When 
he  looked  up  at  Beatrice  Mowbray  on  the  river  bank 
something  strange  and  disturbing  had  happened  to 
him.  He  was  not  given  to  indulgence  in  romantic 
sentiment  and,  absorbed  as  he  had  been,  first  by  the 
necessity  of  providing  for  his  sister  and  himself,  and 
afterward  by  practical  ambitions,  he  had  seldom  spared 
a  thought  to  women.  Marriage  did  not  attract  him. 
He  felt  no  longing  for  close  companionship  or  domes- 
tic comfort;  indeed,  he  rather  liked  a  certain  amount 
of  hardship.  True,  his  heart  had  once  or  twice  been 
mildly  stirred  by  girls  he  had  met.  They  were  pretty 
and  likable  —  otherwise  he  would  not  have  been  at- 
tracted, for  his  taste  was  good. 

In  some  respects,  Harding  was  primitive;  but  this, 
perhaps,  tended  to  give  him  a  clearer  understanding 
of  essential  things,  and  he  had  a  vague  belief  that  he 
would  some  day  meet  the  woman  who  was  destined 
to  be  his  true  mate.  What  was  more,  he  would  recog- 
nize her  when  he  saw  her. 

And  when  he  had  looked  up  at  Beatrice  in  the  moon- 
light, standing  out,  clear  cut,  against  the  somber  back- 
ground of  poplars,  the  knowledge  that  she  was  the  one 
woman  had  rushed  over  him,  surging  through  him  as 
strong  as  the  swift-running  river  through  which  he 


38         HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

had  brought  her.  But,  now  that  the  thing  had  hap- 
pened, he  must  grapple  with  a  difficult  situation.  He 
knew  his  own  value,  and  believed  that  he  had  abilities 
which  would  carry  him  far  toward  material  success; 
but  he  also  knew  his  limitations  and  the  strength  of 
the  prejudices  that  would  be  arrayed  against  him. 
That  he  should  hope  to  win  this  girl  of  patrician  stock 
was,  in  a  sense,  ludicrous.  Yet  he  had  read  courage 
in  her,  and  steadfastness;  if  she  loved  him,  she  would 
not  count  too  great  any  sacrifice  she  made  for  his  sake. 
But  this  was  only  one  side  of  the  matter.  Brought  up 
as  she  had  been,  she  might  not  stand  the  strain  of  such 
a  life  as  his  must  be  for  a  time.  A  deep  tenderness 
awoke  within  him;  he  felt  that  she  must  be  sheltered 
from  all  trouble  and  gently  cared  for. 

Harding  suddenly  broke  into  a  grim  laugh.  He  was 
going  much  too  fast  —  there  was  no  reason  to  believe 
that  the  girl  had  given  him  a  passing  thought. 

With  a  call  to  the  oxen  he  went  on  with  his  plow- 
ing, and  the  work  brought  him  encouragement.  It  was 
directly  productive :  next  fall  the  prairie  he  ripped  apart 
would  be  covered  with  ripening  grain.  He  had  found 
that  no  well-guided  effort  was  lost:  it  bore  fruit  al- 
ways—  in  his  case,  at  the  rate  of  twenty  bushels  of 
wheat,  or  fifty  bushels  of  oats,  to  the  acre.  When 
the  seed  was  wisely  sown  the  harvest  followed;  and 
Harding  had  steadily  enlarged  his  crop.  Now  he  had 
made  his  boldest  venture;  and  he  looked  forward  to 
the  time  when  his  labor  should  change  the  empty  plain 
into  a  fertile  field. 

A  jolt  of  the  plow  disturbed  him,  and  as  he  looked 
up  the  oxen  stopped.  The  share  had  struck  hard 
ground.  On  one  side,  a  sinuous  line  of  trail,  rutted 


THE  OPENING  OF  THE  RIFT        39 

by  wheels  and  beaten  firm  by  hoofs,  seamed  the  prairie ; 
on  the  other,  the  furrows  ran  across  and  blotted  it  out. 
It  was  a  road  the  Allenwood  settlers  used,  and  Harding 
knew  well  what  he  was  doing  when  he  plowed  into  it. 
Still,  the  land  was  his  and  must  produce  its  proper 
yield  of  grain,  while  to  clear  the  trail  with  his  imple- 
ments would  entail  much  useless  labor.  He  had  no 
wish  to  be  aggressive,  but  if  these  people  took  his 
action  as  a  challenge,  the  fault  would  be  theirs.  It  was 
with  a  quiet,  determined  smile  that  he  called  to  the 
oxen  and  held  down  the  share. 

At  noon  he  turned  the  animals  loose,  and  going 
back  to  camp,  felt  his  heart  throb  as  he  saw  Beatrice 
Mowbray  talking  to  Hester.  A  team  stood  near  by, 
and  the  boy  he  had  met  in  the  bluff  was  stooping  down 
beside  a  light  four-wheeled  vehicle.  Beatrice  gave 
Harding  a  smile  of  recognition  and  went  on  talking, 
but  her  brother  came  up  to  him. 

"  The  pole  came  loose,"  he  explained ;  "  and  I 
thought  you  might  lend  me  something  to  fasten  it 
with." 

"  Certainly,"  Harding  said,  stooping  to  examine  the 
damaged  pole.  "  It  won't  fasten,"  he  added.  "  It's 
broken  between  the  iron  straps,  and  there's  not  wood 
enough  to  bolt  them  on  again." 

Lance  frowned. 

"  That's  a  nuisance !  " 

"  I  will  give  you  a  pole,"  Harding  said.  "  There 
is  some  lumber  here  that  will  do." 

He  picked  up  a  small  birch  log  as  he  spoke,  and, 
throwing  it  upon  two  trestles,  set  to  work  with  an  ax. 
When  he  had  it  about  the  right  size,  Lance  interrupted 
him. 


40          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  That's  good  enough.  I'll  get  it  smoothed  off  when 
the  carpenter  comes  out  from  the  settlement." 

"  That  is  not  my  plan,"  Harding  smiled.  "  I  like 
to  finish  a  job." 

He  adjusted  a  plane,  and  Beatrice  watched  him  as 
he  ran  it  along  the  pole.  It  had  not  struck  her  hitherto 
that  one  could  admire  the  simple  mechanical  crafts, 
but  she  thought  there  was  something  fine  in  the  prairie 
farmer's  command  of  the  tool.  She  noticed  his  easy 
poise  as  he  swung  to  and  fro,  the  rhythmic  precision 
of  his  movements,  and  the  accurate  judgment  he 
showed.  As  the  thin  shavings  streamed  across  his 
wrist  the  rough  log  began  to  change  its  form,  growing 
through  gently  tapered  lines  into  symmetry.  Though 
he  had  only  his  eye  to  guide  him,  Beatrice  saw  that  he 
was  skilfully  striking  the  balance  between  strength  and 
lightness,  and  it  was  a  surprise  to  find  elements  of 
beauty  in  such  a  common  object  as  a  wagon-pole.  She 
felt  that  Harding  had  taught  her  something  when  he 
turned  to  Lance,  saying: 

"  There !     I  guess  we  can  put  that  in." 

The  irons  were  soon  refitted,  and  while  Lance  har- 
nessed the  team,  Beatrice  came  to  Harding  with  a  smile. 

"  Thank  you !  "  she  said.  "  It's  curious  that  you 
should  help  me  out  of  a  difficulty  twice  within  a  week." 

Harding  flushed. 

"If  you  should  happen  to  meet  with  another,  I  hope 
I'll  be  near,"  he  returned. 

"You  like  helping  people?" 

He  pondered  this  longer  than  she  thought  it  de- 
served. 

"  I  belief  I  like  straightening  things  out.  It  jars 
me  to  see  any  one  in  trouble  when  there's  a  way  of 


THE  OPENING  OF  THE  RIFT        41 

getting  over  it;  and  I  hate  to  see  effort  wasted  and 
tools  unfit  for  work." 

"  Efficiency  is  your  ideal,  then?  " 

"  Yes.  I  don't  know  that  it  ever  struck  me  before, 
but  you  have  hit  it.  All  the  same,  efficiency  is  hard 
to  attain." 

Beatrice  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  are  really  a  carpenter,"  she  said. 

"  Unless  you  have  plenty  of  money  when  you  start 
breaking  prairie,  you  have  to  be  a  number  of  things," 
he  answered,  smiling.  "  Difficulties  keep  cropping  up, 
and  they  must  be  attacked." 

"  Without  previous  knowledge  or  technical  train- 
ing?" 

He  gave  her  a  quick,  appreciative  glance. 

"  You  have  a  knack  of  getting  at  the  heart  of 
things!"  he  said  in  his  blunt  way.  "It's  not  com- 
mon." 

Beatrice  laughed,  but  she  felt  mildly  flattered.  She 
liked  men  to  treat  her  seriously;  and  so  few  of  them 
did.  Somehow  she  felt  that  Harding  was  an  unusual 
man:  his  toil-roughened  hands  and  his  blunt  manner 
of  speech  were  at  variance  with  the  indefinite  air  of 
culture  and  good-breeding  that  hovered  round  him. 
There  was  strength,  shown  plainly;  and  she  felt  that 
he  had  ability  —  when  confronted  with  a  difficult  prob- 
lem he  would  find  the  best  solution.  It  was  interest- 
ing to  lead  him  on;  but  she  was  to  find  him  ready  to 
go  much  farther  than  she  desired. 

"  I  hope  making  the  new  pole  for  us  wasn't  too 
much  trouble,"  she  said  lightly. 

"  It  gives  me  keen  pleasure  to  be  of  any  use  to  you," 
he  said. 


42          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

The  color  swept  into  Beatrice's  face,  for  he  was 
looking  at  her  with  an  intent  expression  that  made 
it  impossible  to  take  his  remark  lightly.  She  was 
angry  with  herself  for  feeling  confused  while  he  looked 
so  cool. 

"That  sounds  rather  cheap,"  she  replied  with  a 
touch  of  scorn. 

"  My  excuse  is  that  it's  exactly  what  I  felt." 

Composure  in  difficult  circumstances  was  one  of  the 
characteristics  of  her  family,  yet  Beatrice  felt  at  a  loss. 
Harding,  she  thought,  was  not  the  man  to  yield  to  a 
passing  impulse  or  transgress  from  unmeaning  effront- 
ery ;  but  this  made  the  shock  worse. 

Lance  saved  the  situation  by  announcing  that  the 
team  was  ready. 

As  the  buggy  jolted  away  across  the  plain,  Beatrice 
sat  silent.  She  felt  indignant,  humiliated,  in  a  sense; 
but  thrilled  in  spite  of  this.  The  man's  tone  had  been 
earnest  and  his  gaze  steadfast.  He  meant  what  he 
said.  But  he  had  taken  an  unwarrantable  liberty. 
Nobody  knew  anything  about  him  except  that  he  was 
a  working  farmer.  Her  cheeks  burned  as  she  realized 
that  she  had,  perhaps,  been  to  blame  in  treating  him  too 
familiarly.  Then  her  anger  began  to  pass.  After  all, 
it  was  easy  to  forgive  sincere  admiration,  and  he  was 
certainly  a  fine  type  —  strong  and  handsome,  clever 
with  his  hands,  and,  she  thought,  endowed  with  un- 
usual mental  power.  There  was  something  flattering 
in  the  thought  that  he  had  appreciated  her.  For  all 
that,  he  must  be  given  no  opportunity  for  repeating 
the  offense;  he  must  be  shown  that  there  was  a  wide 
gulf  between  them. 

Lance  broke  in  upon  her  thoughts. 


THE  OPENING  OF  THE  RIFT        43 

"  I  like  that  fellow,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  pity  he  isn't 
more  of  our  kind." 

Beatrice  pondered.  Harding  was  not  of  their  kind; 
but  she  did  not  feel  sure  that  the  difference  was  wholly 
in  favor  of  the  Allenwood  settlers.  This  struck  her 
as  strange ;  as  it  was  contrary  to  the  opinions  she  had 
hitherto  held. 

"  Why?  "  she  asked  carelessly. 

"  We  might  have  seen  something  of  him  then." 

"  Can't  you  do  so  now,  if  you  wish?  " 

"  I'm  not  sure.  It  might  not  please  the  Colonel  — 
you  know  his  opinions." 

Beatrice  smiled,  for  she  had  often  heard  them  dog- 
matically expressed. 

"  After  all,  what  is  there  he  could  object  to  about 
Harding?"  she  asked. 

"Not  much  in  one  sense;  a  good  deal  in  another. 
You  can't  deny  that  the  way  one  is  brought  up  makes 
a  difference.  Perhaps  the  worst  is  that  he's  frankly 
out  for  money  —  farming  for  dollars." 

"Aren't  we?" 

"  Not  now.  We're  farming  for  pleasure.  But 
Kenwyne  and  one  or  two  others  think  there'll  have  to 
be  a  change  in  that  respect  before  long." 

"  Then  we'll  be  in  the  same  position  as  Harding, 
won't  we  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Lance  admitted.  "  But  the  Colonel 
won't  see  it;  and  I  can't  say  that  he's  wrong." 

"  It  seems  rather  complicated,"  Beatrice  said  dryly. 

She  was  surprised  to  find  herself  ready  to  contend 
for  Harding,  and  rather  than  inquire  into  the  cause  of 
this,  she  talked  about  Allenwood  affairs  until  they 
reached  home. 


44         HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

Harding,  back  at  his  plowing,  was  thinking  of  Bea- 
trice. He  knew  that  he  had  spoken  rashly,  but  he  did 
not  regret  it.  She  now  knew  what  he  thought  of  her, 
and  could  decide  what  course  to  take.  He  smiled  as 
he  imagined  her  determining  that  he  must  be  dropped, 
for  he  believed  the  mood  would  soon  pass.  He  did  not 
mean  to  persecute  the  girl  with  unwelcome  attentions, 
but  it  would  not  be  easy  to  shake  him  off.  He  was 
tenacious  and  knew  how  to  wait.  Then,  the  difference 
between  them  was,  after  all,  less  wide  than  she  prob- 
ably imagined.  Harding  had  kept  strictly  to  his  com- 
pact not  to  try  to  learn  anything  of  his  father's  people 
in  England ;  but,  for  all  that,  he  believed  himself  to  be 
the  girl's  equal  by  birth.  That,  however,  was  a  point 
that  could  not  be  urged ;  and  he  had  no  wish  to  urge  it. 
He  was  content  to  stand  or  fall  by  his  own  merits  as  a 
man;  and  if  Beatrice  was  the  girl  he  thought  her,  she 
would  not  let  his  being  a  working  farmer  stand  in  the 
way.  This,  of  course,  was  taking  it  for  granted  that 
he  could  win  her  love.  He  was  ready  to  fight  against 
her  relatives'  opposition;  but,  even  if  he  had  the  power, 
he  would  put  no  pressure  on  the  girl.  If  he  was  the 
man  she  ought  to  marry,  she  would  know. 

A  breeze  got  up,  rounded  clouds  with  silver  edges 
gathered  in  the  west,  streaking  the  prairie  with  patches 
of  indigo  shadow,  and  the  air  grew  cooler  as  the  sun 
sank.  The  big  oxen  steadily  plodded  on,  the  dry  grass 
crackled  beneath  the  share  as  the  clods  rolled  back, 
and  by  degrees  Harding's  mind  grew  tranquil  —  as 
generally  happened  when  he  was  at  work.  He  was 
doing  something  worth  while  in  breaking  virgin 
ground,  in  clearing  a  way  for  the  advancing  host  that 
would  people  the  wilderness,  in  roughing  out  a  career 


THE  OPENING  OF  THE  RIFT        45 

for  himself.  Whatever  his  father's  people  were,  his 
mother  sprang  from  a  stern,  colonizing  stock,  and  he 
heard  and  thrilled  to  the  call  for  pioneers. 

As  the  sun  sank  low,  a  man  pulled  up  his  horse  at 
the  end  of  the  trail  and  beckoned  Harding.  There 
was  something  imperious  in  his  attitude,  as  he  sat  with 
his  hand  on  his  hip,  watching  the  farmer  haughtily; 
and  Harding  easily  guessed  that  it  was  Colonel  Mow- 
bray.  He  went  on  with  his  furrow,  and  only  after 
he  had  driven  the  plow  across  the  grass  road  did  he 
stop. 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Harding,  the  owner  of  this  section  ?  " 
demanded  the  head  of  Allenwood. 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I  must  express  my  surprise  that  you  have 
broken  up  our  trail." 

"  It  was  necessary.  I  dislike  blocking  a  trail,  but 
you  can  go  round  by  the  road." 

"  You  can  see  that  it's  soft  and  boggy  in  wet 
weather." 

"  Five  minutes'  extra  ride  will  take  you  over  gravel 
soil  inside  the  Allenwood  range." 

"  Do  you  expect  us  to  waste  five  minutes  whenever 
we  come  this  way  ?  " 

"  My  time  is  valuable,  and  if  I  let  your  trail  stand  it 
would  cost  me  a  good  deal  of  extra  labor.  I  must 
have  a  straight  unbroken  run  for  my  machines." 

"  So,  sooner  than  throw  an  implement  out  of  gear 
while  you  cross  the  trail,  you  take  this  course!  Do 
you  consider  it  neighborly  ?  " 

Harding  smiled.  He  remembered  that  in  Manitoba 
any  help  the  nearest  farmer  could  supply  had  been 
willingly  given.  At  Allenwood,  he  had  been  left  alone. 


46          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

That  did  not  trouble  him;  but  he  thought  of  Hester, 
enduring  many  discomforts  in  her  rude,  board  shack 
while  women  surrounded  by  luxury  lived  so  near. 

"  I  can't  see  any  reason  why  I  should  be  neigh- 
borly," he  replied. 

Mowbray  glanced  at  him  with  a  hint  of  embarrass- 
ment. 

"  Have  you  any  complaint  against  us  ?  " 

"  None,"  said  Harding  coolly.  "  I  only  mentioned 
the  matter  because  you  did  so." 

He  imagined  that  Mowbray  was  surprised  by  his 
reserve. 

"  You  may  be  able  to  understand,"  the  Colonel  said, 
"  that  it's  rash  for  an  intruding  stranger  to  set  him- 
self against  local  customs,  not  to  speak  of  the  dis- 
courtesy of  the  thing.  When  a  new  trail  is  made  at 
Allenwood,  every  holder  is  glad  to  give  all  the  land 
that's  needed." 

"  Land  doesn't  seem  to  be  worth  as  much  to  you  as 
it  is  to  me,  judging  from  the  way  you  work  it.  Every 
rod  of  mine  must  grow  something.  I  don't  play  at 
farming." 

Mowbray  grew  red  in  the  face,  but  kept  himself  in 
hand. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  criticize  our  methods  ?  "  he  de- 
manded. 

"  I've  nothing  to  do  with  your  methods.  It's  my 
business  to  farm  this  section  as  well  as  it  can  be  done. 
I've  no  wish  to  annoy  your  people ;  but  you  do  not  use 
the  trail  for  hauling  on,  and  I  can't  change  my  plans 
because  they  may  interfere  with  your  amusements." 

"  Very  well,"  Mowbray  answered  coldly.  "  There 
is  nothing  more  to  be  said." 


THE  OPENING  OF  THE  RIFT        47 

He  rode  away  and  Harding  started  his  oxen.  It 
might  have  been  more  prudent  to  make  a  few  conces- 
sions and  conciliate  the  Colonel,  but  Harding  could  not 
bring  himself  to  do  so.  It  seemed  a  shabby  course. 
It  was  better  that  the  Allenwood  settlers  should  know 
at  the  beginning  how  matters  stood  and  of  what  type 
their  new  neighbor  was. 

From  all  that  Harding  had  learned  of  Colonel  Mow- 
bray,  he  felt  that  this  stretch  of  grassland  would  not 
be  turned  into  a  glowing  sea  of  wheat  without  more 
than  one  conflict  between  himself  and  the  head  of 
Allenwood. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  SPENDTHRIFT 

KENWYNE  felt  pleasantly  languid  as  he  lounged 
in  a  basket-chair  after  his  evening  meal.  He 
had  been  back-setting  land  since  daybreak.  Holding 
the  plow  was  an  occupation  almost  unknown  to  the 
Allenwood  settlers,  who  left  all  the  rougher  work  to 
their  hired  men.  Kenwyne,  however,  was  of  a  prac- 
tical turn  of  mind ;  and,  having  invested  all  his  money 
in  his  farm,  he  meant  to  get  some  return.  He  occa- 
sionally enjoyed  a  run  with  the  coyote  hounds,  or  a 
day's  shooting  when  the  migrating  geese  and  ducks 
rested  among  the  sloos;  but  for  the  most  part  he 
stuck  steadily  to  his  work  and,  as  he  bought  the  latest 
implements,  he  was  considered  richer  than  he  really 
was.  Though  thirty,  he  was  unmarried;  an  elderly 
Scottish  housekeeper  looked  after  him. 

One  of  the  obstacles  to  Allenwood's  progress  was 
that  the  bachelors  outnumbered  the  married  men;  and 
the  difficulty  seemed  insuperable.  The  settlers  be- 
longed to  an  exclusive  caste,  and  few  young  English- 
women of  education  and  refinement  had  shown  them- 
selves willing  to  face  the  hardships  of  the  prairie  life ; 
though  these  were  softened  at  Allenwood  by  many  of 
the  amenities  of  civilization.  Moreover,  it  was  known 
to  the  rasher  youths,  who  occasionally  felt  tempted 
by  the  good  looks  of  the  daughters  of  the  soil,  that 

48 


THE  SPENDTHRIFT  49 

Colonel  Mowbray  sternly  discountenanced  anything 
of  the  nature  of  a  mesalliance,  and  that  the  married 
women  would  deal  even  more  strictly  with  the  of- 
fenders. Broadwood,  for  example,  had  broken  the 
settlement's  traditions,  and  he  and  his  Canadian  wife 
had  suffered. 

While  Kenwyne  was  reading  an  old  newspaper, 
Gerald  Mowbray  sauntered  in.  He  had  a  careless, 
genial  manner  that  made  him  a  favorite,  but  there  was 
a  hint  of  weakness  in  his  face,  and  Kenwyne  had  never 
trusted  him.  It  was  known  that  he  had  been  wild  and 
extravagant;  but  at  Allenwood  that  was  not  generally 
regarded  as  a  grave  drawback.  They  were  charitable 
there;  several  of  the  younger  men,  who  now  made 
good  settlers,  had  left  England  at  their  relatives'  ur- 
gent request,  after  gaining  undesirable  notoriety. 

Gerald  selected  a  comfortable  chair  and  passed  his 
cigar-case  to  Kenwyne. 

"  They're  good,"  he  said.  "  I  had  them  sent  from 
Montreal." 

"  No,  thanks,"  replied  Kenwyne.  "  I've  given  up 
such  extravagances,  and  stick  to  the  labeled  plug.  I 
don't  want  to  be  officious,  but  it  might  be  better  if 
you  did  the  same." 

Gerald  smiled. 

"  You're  rather  a  sordid  beggar,  Ralph ;  but  as  that's 
often  a  sign  of  prosperity,  it  makes  me  hopeful.  I 
want  you  to  lend  me  two  hundred  pounds." 

"  Impossible !  "  said  Kenwyne  firmly. 

"One  hundred  and  fifty,  then?" 

"  Equally  out  of  the  question.  All  I  have  is  sunk 
in  stock,  and  earmarked  for  next  year's  operations." 
Kenwyne  paused  and  considered.  He  knew  the 


50          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

chances  were  slight  that  the  money  would  ever  be  re- 
turned; yet  he  respected  Colonel  Mowbray,  and  his 
loyalty  extended  to  the  family  of  the  head  of  Allen- 
wood.  "  Why  do  you  want  the  money  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  tell  you.  It  goes  back  to 
India  —  what  you  might  call  a  'debt  of  honor/  I 
borrowed  the  money  in  London  to  square  it;  and 
thought  when  I  came  to  Canada  I'd  be  too  far  away 
for  the  London  fellow  to  put  undue  pressure  on  me. 
Oh,  I  meant  to  pay  sometime,  when  I  was  ready ;  but 
the  fellow  transferred  the  debt  to  a  man  at  Winnipeg, 
who  has  sent  me  a  curt  demand  with  an  extortionate 
bill  of  expenses.  Now  I  have  to  pay." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  been  round  the  settlement  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  I  haven't  collected  much.  In  fact,  I'm 
afraid  I'll  have  to  pledge  my  farm." 

"  You  can't  do  that.  Our  foundation  covenant  for- 
bids a  settler  to  alienate  his  land  without  the  consent 
of  a  majority  in  the  council,  subject  to  the  president's 
veto.  Your  father  would  certainly  use  his  veto." 

"  Very  true,"  Gerald  agreed.  "  However,  I  don't 
propose  to  alienate  my  land  —  only  to  pawn  it  for  a 
time." 

"  It's  against  the  spirit  of  the  deed." 

"  I've  nothing  to  do  with  its  spirit.  The  covenant 
should  say  what  it  means,  and  it  merely  states  that  a 
settler  shall  not  sell  to  any  person  who's  not  a  member 
of  the  colony.  I'm  not  going  to  sett." 

:<  You're  going  to  do  a  dangerous  thing,"  Kenwyne 
warned  him. 

"  Then  the  remedy  is  for  you  to  let  me  have  a 
thousand  dollars,"  Gerald  said  quickly. 


THE  SPENDTHRIFT  51 

"  It  is  impossible ;  but  I  will  try  to  raise  five  hun- 
dred. I  suppose  the  Colonel  does  not  know  you  have 
come  to  me?  " 

"  I  rely  upon  your  not  letting  him  know."  Gerald 
smiled  in  that  ingratiating  way  that  won  him  many 
friends.  "  I'm  deeply  grateful,  and  you're  a  good 
sort,  Ralph,  though  in  some  ways  you  differ  from  the 
rest  of  us.  I  don't  know  where  you  got  your  trades- 
man's spirit." 

"  It  won't  be  so  singular  before  long,"  Kenwyne 
answered  with  dry  amusement.  "  Even  now,  Broad- 
wood  and  one  or  two  others " 

"  Broadwood  doesn't  count  He  married  a  girl  of 
the  soil." 

"  He  loves  her,  and  she  makes  him  a  good  wife." 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  a  mistake.  You  know  our  tradi- 
tions." 

Kenwyne  laughed,  and  nodded  toward  the  open  win- 
dow, through  which  they  heard  the  sound  of  cheerful 
whistling  approaching  them  along  the  trail. 

"  I  suspect  that's  Broadwood  now,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  I  must  be  going.  I  will  call  for  the  check 
to-morrow." 

Gerald  left  as  Broadwood  entered. 

"  I  can  guess  what  he  wanted.  He  was  at  my  place," 
Broadwood  said,  as  he  took  the  seat  Gerald  had  va- 
cated. 

"  Ah !  I'll  wager  he  didn't  go  away  empty-handed," 
Kenwyne  smiled. 

"  Perhaps  I'm  betraying  a  confidence  in  admitting 
it.  Anyway,  I  felt  that  one  ought  to  help  him  for 
the  family's  sake,  lest  he  get  into  worse  trouble;  and 


52          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

I  could  afford  the  loan.  Since  I  married  I've  been 
making  some  money.  But  I  want  to  ask  you  about 
this  Harding.  What  kind  of  fellow  is  he?" 

"  I  like  what  I've  seen  of  him.     Why?  " 

"  Effie  has  been  talking  about  his  sister.  Seemed 
to  think  it  was  unkind  to  leave  the  girl  alone  —  in 
want,  perhaps,  of  odds  and  ends  a  woman  could  sup- 
ply. I  think  she  has  made  up  her  mind  to  go  see 
her." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  would  meet  with  general  ap- 
proval. What  did  you  say?" 

"  I  seldom  give  my  opinion  on  these  matters," 
Broadwood  answered  with  a  laugh.  "  On  the  whole, 
I  think  Effie's  right;  and  I  suspect  that  knowing  the 
thing  won't  please  the  others  gives  it  a  charm.  After 
all,  she  hasn't  much  reason  for  respecting  their  preju- 
dices. At  first,  they  nearly  drove  us  out  of  Allen- 
wood." 

"  I'm  glad  you  didn't  go.  Your  wife  is  steadily 
gaining  ground,  and  the  others  will  be  glad  to  copy 
her  after  a  while." 

"  That's  my  idea ;  we'll  have  to  work  our  land. 
Have  you  ever  thought  what  the  Colonel  could  do  with 
his  big  block,  if  he  had  the  capital?  " 

"  And  the  wish !  "  said  Kenwyne.  "  The  obstacle  is 
his  point  of  view.  Besides,  all  of  it  isn't  really  his: 
Mrs.  Mowbray,  Beatrice,  and  the  boys  have  a  share. 
Of  course,  his  taking  the  lots  as  one  gives  him  a  solid 
vote  in  the  council,  and  with  the  veto  he  has  on  certain 
points  makes  him  an  absolute  ruler." 

"  So  long  as  his  family  support  him !  " 

"  Can  you  imagine  their  doing  the  contrary  ?  " 

"  I've  thought  the  Colonel's  position  was  least  se- 


THE  SPENDTHRIFT  53 

cure  from  an  attack  within,"  Broadwood  answered 
thoughtfully.  "  It  doesn't  follow  that  a  man's  family 
is  bound  to  agree  with  him.  Gerald's  a  dark  horse, 
and  one  can't  predict  what  he'll  do,  except  that  it  will 
be  what  suits  himself.  Lance  is  young  and  head- 
strong; and  Beatrice  has  a  mind  of  her  own.  .  .  .  But 
I  really  came  to  ask  your  opinion  about  this  sketch  of 
a  new  stable.  I  must  buy  another  team." 

(They  discussed  the  plan  for  the  new  building  un- 
til it  grew  late  and  Broadwood  went  home. 
The  following  day  Gerald  Mowbray  left  Allenwood 
for  Winnipeg.  It  was  a  dismal,  wet  evening  when  he 
arrived;  and  Winnipeg  was  not  an  attractive  city  at 
that  time.  There  were  a  few  fine  stores  and  offices 
on  Main  Street;  Portage  Avenue  was  laid  out,  and 
handsome  buildings  were  rising  here  and  there;  but, 
for  the  most  part,  the  frame  houses  had  a  dilapidated, 
squalid  look.  Rows  of  pedlers'  shacks  stretched  back 
from  the  wooden  station,  the  streets  were  unpaved, 
and  the  churned-up  prairie  soil  lay  in  sticky  clods 
upon  the  rude  plank  sidewalks.  Dripping  teams  floun- 
dered heavily  through  the  mire.  Although  the  city 
was  beginning  to  feel  the  stir  of  commercial  activity, 
the  dark  corners  were  devoted  to  questionable  amuse- 
ments. 

Gerald  had  supper  at  his  hotel,  and  afterward  found 
the  time  hang  upon  his  hands.  The  general  lounge 
was  badly  lighted,  and  its  uncovered  floor  was  smeared 
with  gumbo  mud  from  the  boots  of  the  wet  men  who 
slouched  in  to  the  bar.  The  door  kept  swinging  open, 
letting  in  cold  draughts ;  and  Gerald  could  find  nobody 
to  talk  to.  He  had  not  enough  money  to  pay  off  his 
debt,  but  thought  he  had  sufficient  to  enable  him  to 


54          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

make  some  compromise  with  his  creditor,  and  so  had 
determined  to  see  what  could  be  done.  It  was,  how- 
ever, impossible  to  spend  the  dismal  evening  at  the 
hotel,  and  he  knew  where  excitement  might  be  found 
at  a  moderate  cost  —  that  is,  if  one  were  cautious  and 
lucky. 

Going  out,  he  made  his  way  toward  a  side  street 
running  down  to  the  river,  and  noticed  the  keen  glance 
an  armed  Northwest  policeman  gave  him  as  he  turned 
the  corner.  Gerald  thought  it  a  desirable  spot  to  sta- 
tion the  constable. 

A  ramshackle  frame  house  down  the  street  was 
glaringly  illuminated,  and  Gerald,  entering,  found  a 
number  of  men  and  one  or  two  women  in  two  gaudily 
furnished  rooms.  There  was  another  room  at  the 
back  where  refreshments  were  dispensed  without  a 
license.  For  the  most  part,  the  men  were  young, 
brown-faced  fellows  who  had  spent  the  summer  on 
the  lonely  plains;  but  a  few  had  a  hard  and  sinister1 
look.  The  girls  were  pretty  and  stylishly  dressed,  but 
they  had  a  predatory  air. 

In  one  corner  of  the  room  an  exciting  poker  game 
seemed  to  be  in  progress.  At  the  other  end  a  roulette 
table  was  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  eager  players. 
Gerald  was  fond  of  games  of  chance,  and  he  saw  ahead 
of  him  a  pleasant  evening.  Leaning  against  the  bar, 
he  was  merely  an  onlooker  for  a  while.  The  glare  of 
light  and  the  air  of  excitement,  the  eager  faces  of  the 
players  and  the  click  of  the  balls  fascinated  him. 

He  had  not  been  drinking  heavily;  yet  to  his  an- 
noyance he  felt  a  trifle  unsteady  when  at  last  he 
strolled  over  to  the  roulette  table.  His  first  mistake 
was  to  take  a  five-dollar  bill  from  the  wallet  which 


THE  SPENDTHRIFT  55 

contained  the  money  to  pay  his  debt.  More  than  one 
pair  of  greedy  eyes  saw  the  thick  wad  of  paper  cur- 
rency; and  from  that  moment  Gerald  was  a  marked 
man  in  the  room. 

In  the  gray  hour  preceding  daybreak,  when,  sick 
and  dizzy,  Gerald  stumbled  back  to  his  hotel,  he  found 
that  he  had  only  ten  dollars  remaining  of  the  amount 
that  had  been  entrusted  to  him  to  settle  his  debt.  Ten 
dollars  would  not  pay  his  hotel  bill,  even. 

He  woke  about  noon,  his  head  aching  severely.  He 
could  form  no  definite  idea  as  to  what  was  best  to  be 
done.  One  thing,  however,  was  certain:  No  one  at 
Allenwood  must  know  how  he  had  spent  the  preceding 
evening.  His  relatives  had  no  reason  for  believing 
his  conduct  irreproachable,  but  so  long  as  he  did  not 
thrust  his  failings  upon  their  notice  they  ignored  them. 
Then,  the  revelation  of  how  he  had  lost  the  money 
given  him  would  no  doubt  lead  to  his  banishment  from 
Allenwood ;  and  except  for  a  small  allowance  from  his 
mother's  English  property,  he  had  no  resources.  The 
survey  he  had  been  engaged  upon  was  abandoned  for 
a  time,  and  he  could  find  no  other  employment.  He 
must  hold  on  at  Allenwood,  trusting  that  something 
would  turn  up,  and  augmenting  his  income  by  the  small 
sums  he  might  win  from  the  younger  men  at  cards. 
First  of  all,  however,  he  must  call  upon  his  creditor; 
it  was  a  disagreeable  task,  but  one  that  could  not  be 
shirked. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   MORTGAGE  BROKER 

DAVIES  sat  at  his  desk  sorting  a  bundle  of  papers. 
His  office,  a  large  room  in  a  smart,  new  build- 
ing, was  elaborately  furnished;  but  the  furnishings 
spelled  expense  rather  than  taste.  The  walls  were 
hung  with  maps  of  the  Canadian  territories,  plans  of 
new  town  sites,  and  photographs  of  buildings.  Da  vies 
was  one  of  a  class  that  was,  for  a  time,  to  exercise  a 
far-reaching  influence  on  the  Western  prairie.  His 
business  was  to  sell  the  new  settlers  land  —  which  was 
seldom  paid  for  on  the  spot;  the  agent  being  willing 
to  take  what  he  could  get  and  leave  the  balance  on 
mortgage.  He  also  lent  money  to  farmers  who  had 
suffered  from  bad  seasons,  or  who  rashly  determined 
to  extend  their  operations  with  borrowed  capital. 

Interest  was  then  very  high,  and  the  scratch-farm- 
ing generally  practised  was  not  productive.  Crops  on 
the  half-worked  soil  suffered  from  drought  and  blight, 
and  often  ripened  too  late  to  escape  the  autumn  frost ; 
yet,  in  spite  of  these  disadvantages,  the  influx  of  new 
settlers  forced  up  the  price  of  land.  As  a  rule,  the 
unfortunate  farmer  soon  became  indebted  to  local 
storekeepers  as  well  as  to  the  man  from  whom  he  had 
bought  his  holding.  When  he  harvested  a  good  crop, 
he  paid  off  some  arrears  of  interest,  and  perhaps  kept 
a  few  dollars  to  go  on  with ;  but  he  seldom  got  out  of 

56 


THE  MORTGAGE  BROKER  57 

debt,  and  so  toiled  on,  living  with  stern  frugality, 
while  the  money-lender  pocketed  his  earnings.  Shy- 
lock  ran  no  risk,  since  the  security  was  good  and 
he  could  sell  up  the  defaulter.  For  a  time,  many  of 
the  small  homesteaders  struggled  with  dire  poverty, 
in  spite  of  legislation  intended  to  protect  them;  and 
it  was  not  until  a  succession  of  good  harvests  and  the 
gradual  development  of  the  country  enabled  them  to 
break  the  yoke  of  the  usurer  that  a  tide  of  prosperity 
flowed  across  the  plains. 

Davies  was  an  unfavorable  specimen  of  his  class. 
There  were  some  land  and  mortgage  agents  who  dealt 
fairly  with  their  clients  and  even  ran  some  risk  in 
keeping  them  on  their  feet;  but  Davies  was  cunning, 
grasping,  and  pitiless. 

When  Gerald  entered  he  gave  him,  a  curt  nod, 
snapped  a  rubber  band  around  the  papers,  placed  them 
carefully  in  a  pigeonhole  in  his  desk,  and  then  turned 
to  his  caller. 

"  Mr.  Mowbray !  I  expected  to  see  you  sooner. 
Guess  you  have  come  to  settle  your  account." 

Gerald  found  it  hard  to  keep  his  temper.  He  had 
an  aristocratic  contempt  for  all  traders,  and  had,  even 
in  Canada,  generally  been  treated  with  some  deference. 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  don't  see  what  you  have  to  do 
with  this  debt,"  he  began.  "  I  borrowed  from  parties 
in  London,  and  I'm  responsible  to  them." 

"  Here's  my  authority,"  Davies  said,  handing  him 
a  letter.  "  Whether  the  lender  instructed  me  to  col- 
lect the  money  for  him,  or  made  other  arrangements 
doesn't  matter  to  you.  I  can  give  you  a  receipt  that 
will  stand  good  as  soon  as  you  put  up  the  money." 

"  Unfortunately,  that  is  more  than  I  can  do." 


58         HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

Davies  did  not  look  surprised. 

"What's  your  proposition?"  he  asked. 

"  I'll  think  over  yours,"  Gerald  answered  as  coolly 
as  he  could. 

Davies  studied  him  for  a  moment  or  two.  Gerald's 
expression  was  supercilious,  but  his  face  did  not  indi- 
cate much  strength  of  character.  Besides,  the  only 
justification  for  arrogance  that  Davies  recognized  was 
the  possession  of  money. 

"  You're  the  son  of  Colonel  Mowbray  of  Allenwood, 
aren't  you?  Your  people  hold  a  good  piece  of  land 
there." 

"  You  seem  to  know  all  about  me.  I'd  better  warn 
you,  however,  that  you  won't  find  my  relatives  willing 
to  pay  my  debts." 

Davies  smiled. 

"  I  could  try  them.  They  might  do  something  if  I 
stated  my  claim." 

This  was  what  Gerald  had  feared,  and  he  could  not 
hide  his  alarm. 

"  It  will  save  you  trouble  if  you  realize  that  you 
wouldn't  get  a  dollar,"  he  said  hastily. 

Davies  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  he  was  by  no  means  anxious  to  be  paid.  Allen- 
wood  was  isolated  as  yet,  and  the  land  accordingly 
not  worth  much,  but  the  homesteads  were  unusually 
good  and  the  advance  of  cultivation  and  settlement 
would  largely  increase  their  value.  Davies  wanted  a 
hold  on  Allenwood  which  might  be  turned  to  advan- 
tage later,  and  he  now  saw  an  opportunity  for  getting 
it.  Young  Mowbray  obviously  objected  to  having  his 
friends  learn  how  he  was  situated,  and  this  would 
make  him  easier  to  manage. 


THE  MORTGAGE  BROKER  59 

"  Well,"  Davies  said,  "  you  have  some  land  there, 
haven't  you?  What's  the  acreage,  township,  and 
range?" 

Gerald  named  them,  and  Davies  made  some  calcula- 
tions on  a  piece  of  paper  before  he  looked  up. 

"  If  I  find  this  all  right  in  the  land  register,  I'll 
cancel  your  London  debt,  and  take  a  mortgage  on  your 
holding,"  he  said,  handing  Gerald  the  paper  he  had 
been  writing  on.  "  Here's  an  outline  of  the  terms." 

"  The  interest's  extortionate !  " 

"If  you  think  so,  go  round  the  town  and  see  if  you 
can  find  anybody  who'll  be  more  liberal.  If  not,  you 
can  come  back  to-morrow  and  we'll  fix  up  the  deal." 

Davies  felt  safe  in  making  the  suggestion.  He  did 
not  think  Gerald  had  much  business  ability,  and  trusted 
to  his  reluctance  to  make  his  embarrassments  known. 
Besides,  the  mortgage  brokers  had  their  hands  full  and 
were  not  all  so  confident  of  the  rapid  advance  of  settle- 
ment as  Davies  was.  Indeed,  there  were  men  who  de- 
clared that  the  country  was  being  opened  up  too  rapidly, 
and  predicted  a  bad  set-back. 

Gerald  left  Davies'  office  with  a  faint  hope  of  being 
able  to  find  a  safer  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  To  give 
his  land  in  pledge  would  be  a  violation  of  the  covenant 
that  bound  the  Allenwood  settlers.  It  was  an  offense 
that  his  father  and  his  neighbors  could  not  forgive. 
He  shrank  from  the  dangerous  course;  but  the  day 
went  by  without  his  finding  any  escape,  and  the  next 
morning  he  called  on  Davies  and  the  mortgage  was 
signed. 

While  Gerald  was  at  Winnipeg,  Mrs.  Broadwood 
startled,  the  settlement  at  Allenwood  by  calling  on 
Harding's  sister.  The  visit  was  prompted  by  sym- 


60          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

pathy  for  the  lonely  prairie  girl ;  but,  coupled  with  that, 
Mrs.  Broadwood  delighted  in  the  feeling  that  all  the 
Allenwood  women  would  disapprove  of  her  course. 
She  was  small  and  pretty,  with  plenty  of  determination 
and  an  exuberant  cheerfulness  which  contact  with  her 
husband's  friends  had  somewhat  toned  down;  and 
there  was  about  her  an  air  of  homely  Western  frank- 
ness that  was  charming. 

When  she  reached  Harding's  camp,  Hester  sat  sew- 
ing in  the  sun.  The  girl  made  a  remarkably  pretty 
picture,  she  thought,  seated  beside  a  pile  of  prairie 
hay,  with  a  few  purple  asters  springing  up  at  her  feet 
and,  behind  her,  a  ragged  pine-tree  drooping  its 
branches  to  the  ground.  And  over  all  the  gold  of  sun- 
shine. 

"  You  look  like  a  priestess  of  the  sun!  "  Mrs.  Broad- 
wood  greeted  her,  laughing. 

Hester  smiled  in  response. 

"  I'm  sitting  outside  because  it's  rather  damp  and 
cold  in  the  shack,"  she  said.  "  As  you  see,  our  house 
isn't  finished  yet." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  came  forward,  and  Mrs. 
Broadwood  looked  at  her  admiringly.  Hester  was 
tall  and  naturally  dignified,  and  her  characteristic  ex- 
pression was  grave  composure.  Besides,  her  visitor 
remarked  the  excellent  taste  and  fit  of  her  simple 
dress. 

"  I'm  sure  we're  going  to  be  friends,"  said  Mrs. 
Broadwood. 

"  I  hope  so,"  Hester  answered  simply. 

The  visitor  found  a  seat  in  the  prairie  hay,  and  sink- 
ing down  in  the  soft  grass,  she  breathed  the  smell  of 


THE  MORTGAGE  BROKER  61 

wild  peppermint  with  delight.  She  noticed  the  hearth 
of  parallel  logs,  with  a  big  kerosene  can,  used  as  a 
washing  boiler,  hanging  from  a  tripod  at  one  end ;  the 
camp  oven;  the  sawing  frame;  and  the  scented  cedar 
shingles  strewn  about  beside  the  framework  of  the 
house.  All  these  things  were  familiar,  for  she  was 
one  of  the  pioneers. 

"  My!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  This  is  nice!  Makes  me 
feel  homesick." 

"  It  must  be  a  change  from  Allenwood,"  Hester  an- 
swered with  a  smile. 

"  That's  why  I  like  it !  I'm  quite  happy  there ;  but 
this  is  the  kind  of  place  where  I  belong.  Twice  before 
I  met  my  husband  I  helped  make  a  new  home  on  the 
plains,  and  this  spot  reminds  me  of  the  last  time.  We 
fixed  camp  by  Stony  Creek  in  early  summer,  when  the 
grass  was  green  and  all  the  flowers  were  out.  There 
were  rows  of  the  red  prairie  lilies.  I  never  saw  so 
many !  —  and  I  remember  how  the  new  birch  leaves 
used  to  rustle  in  the  bluff  at  night.  Thinking  of  it 
somehow  hurts  me."  She  laughed  prettily.  "  I'm 
what  Tom  calls  a  sentimentalist." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Hester;  "  so  you  needn't  stop." 

"  Well,  I  remember  everything  about  the  night  we 
put  in  our  stakes  —  Sally  baking  bannocks,  with  the 
smoke  going  straight  up ;  the  loaded  wagons  in  a  row ; 
the  tired  horses  rolling  in  the  grass;  and  the  chunk  of 
the  boys'  axes,  chopping  in  the  bluff.  Though  we'd 
been  on  the  trail  since  sun-up,  there  was  work  for 
hours,  bread  to  bake  and  clothes  to  wash;  and  when 
we  went  to  sleep,  a  horse  got  his  foot  in  a  line  and 
brought  the  tent  down  on  us.  It  was  all  hard  in  those 


62          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

days,  a  hustle  from  dawn  to  dark;  but  now,  when 
things  are  different,  I  sometimes  want  them  back. 
But  I  needn't  tell  you  —  I  guess  you  know !  " 

"Yes;  I  know,"  said  Hester.  "Perhaps  it's  the 
work  we  were  born  for." 

She  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  looking  far  out 
over  the  prairie ;  then  she  asked  abruptly : 

"  What  are  the  Allenwood  people  like?  " 

"They're  much  the  same  as  you  and  I,  but  they 
wear  more  frills,  and  when  you  rub  against  those  who 
use  the  most  starch  you  find  them  prickly.  Then, 
they've  some  quaint  notions  that  Walter  Raleigh  or 
Jacques  Cartier  must  have  brought  over;  but,  taking 
them  all  round,  they're  a  straight,  clean  crowd."  She 
looked  intently  at  Hester.  "  Somehow  you  make  me 
feel  that  you  belong  to  them." 

Hester  smiled.  Mrs.  Broadwood  was  impulsive  and 
perhaps  not  always  discreet,  but  Hester  thought  her 
true. 

"  I  don't  understand  that,"  she  replied.  "  Though 
I  think  my  mother  was  a  woman  of  unusual  character, 
she  came  from  the  Michigan  bush.  My  father  was 
English,  but  he  had  only  a  small  farm  and  didn't  bring 
us  up  differently  from  our  neighbors.  Still,  he  had 
different  ideas  and  bought  a  good  many  books.  Craig 
and  I  read  them  all,  and  he  would  talk  to  us  about 
them." 

"Craig's  your  brother?  I've  seen  him  once  or 
twice.  Tell  me  about  him." 

Hester  nodded  toward  the  trail  that  wormed  its 
way  across  the  prairie.  A  girl  was  riding  toward 
them. 

"  Beatrice  Mowbray,"  Mrs.  Broadwood  said ;  "  the 


THE  MORTGAGE  BROKER  63 

best  of  them  all  at  Allen  wood,  though  sometimes  she's 
not  easy  to  get  on  with." 

When  Beatrice  joined  them,  Mrs.  Broadwood  re- 
peated her  suggestion.  She  was  frankly  curious,  and 
Hester  was  not  unwilling  to  talk  about  her  brother. 
Indeed,  she  made  the  story  an  interesting  character 
sketch,  and  Beatrice  listened  quietly  while  she  told 
how  the  lad  was  left  with  a  patch  of  arid  soil,  and  his 
mother  and  sister  to  provide  for.  Hester  related  how 
he  braved  his  neighbors'  disapproval  of  the  innovations 
which  they  predicted  would  lead  him  to  ruin,  and  by 
tenacity  and  boldness  turned  threatened  failure  into 
brilliant  success.  Then  losing  herself  in  her  theme, 
she  sketched  the  birth  of  greater  ambitions,  and  the 
man's  realization  of  his  powers.  Beatrice's  eyes 
brightened  with  keen  approval.  She  admired  strength 
and  daring,  and  Hester  had  drawn  a  striking  picture 
of  her  brother. 

When  the  visitors  rose  to  go,  Harding  appeared. 
He  had  come,  he  explained,  for  an  ox-chain  clevis. 

"  I  have  another  visit  to  make,"  Beatrice  said,  when 
he  had  helped  her  to  mount.  "  The  shortest  way  is 
across  the  ravine  and  there  used  to  be  a  trail,  unless 
you  have  plowed  it  up." 

"  No,"  he  laughed ;  "  I  mean  to  improve  that  one. 
However,  as  it's  not  very  good,  and  there's  an  awk- 
ward place,  I'll  show  you  the  way  down." 

They  left  the  camp  together,  and  Harding  was  not 
pleased  to  notice  no  difference  in  the  girl's  attitude  to 
him.  He  had  not  expected  her  to  show  embarrass- 
ment, but  he  would  not  have  minded  a  dignified  aloof- 
ness. It  looked  as  if  she  had  not  thought  it  worth 
while  to  resent  his  boldness  when  they  last  met.  For 


64          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

all  that,  it  made  his  heart  beat  fast  to  be  near  her. 

Beatrice  glanced  toward  the  dark-brown  line  of  the 
fall  plowing. 

"  Do  you  know  what  our  people  are  saying  about 
you?  You  haven't  shown  much  regard  for  your 
neighbors'  feelings." 

"  I'd  try  to  respect  their  needs." 

"  Well,  that  is  something.  Still,  the  trail  was  at 
least  convenient,  and  it  had  stood  for  a  number  of 
years." 

"  I'm  afraid  some  more  of  the  old  landmarks  will 
have  to  go.  These  are  changing  times." 

"  And  I  suppose  there's  satisfaction  in  feeling  that 
you  are  leading  the  way?  " 

"  I  can't  claim  that,"  Harding  answered  with  a 
smile.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  we're  following  a  plain 
trail ;  the  fur-traders  blazed  it  for  us  before  the  railroad 
came;  and  I  dare  say  your  father  had  broken  ground 
at  Allenwood  when  I  was  learning  to  harness  a  team." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  make  you  diffident.  Now,  I 
agree  with  my  friends  that  there's  a  good  deal  to  ad- 
mire in  the  old  order." 

"  That's  so.  All  that's  best  in  it  will  stay ;  you  can't 
destroy  it.  In  a  way,  it's  a  comforting  thought  because 
we  can't  stand  still,  and  progress  means  a  fight." 

"  And  yet  some  people  believe  in  throwing  away  the 
weapons  our  fathers  have  used  and  proved." 

Harding  laughed.  . 

"When  they're  fine  steel,  that's  foolish;  but  we 
might  be  allowed  to  rub  off  the  rust  and  regrind 
them." 

Beatrice  liked  his  half-humorous  manner,  which  she 
suspected  covered  a  strong  sincerity.  Besides,  she 


THE  MORTGAGE  BROKER  65 

had  asked  for  his  opinions ;  he  had  not  obtruded  them. 
She  gave  him  a  quick  glance  of  scrutiny  as  he  led  her 
horse  down  the  steep,  brush-encumbered  trail  into  the 
ravine;  and  she  admitted  to  herself  that  he  improved 
on  acquaintance.  One  got  used  to  his  rough  clothes 
and  his  line  of  thought  which  differed  so  widely  from 
the  views  held  at  Allenwood. 

Yellow  birch  leaves  shone  about  them,  the  pale-tinted 
stems  were  streaked  with  silver  by  the  sinking  sun, 
and  the  ravine  was  filled  with  heavy  blue  shadow. 
There  was  something  strangely  exhilarating  in  the 
light,  glowing  color  and  the  sharp  wind ;  and  Beatrice 
felt  her  senses  stirred.  Then  she  noticed  Harding's 
set  lips  and  the  concentrated  look  in  his  eyes.  He 
seemed  to  be  thinking  earnestly  and  perhaps  exercising 
some  self-restraint.  She  suddenly  recalled  his  pre- 
sumption the  last  time  they  were  together.  She  had 
not  carried  out  her  plan  of  avoiding  him,  but  she 
thought  it  might  be  better  to  run  no  risk. 

"  I  mustn't  take  you  any  farther,"  she  said.  "  The 
trail  is  good  up  the  other  side." 

"  All  right,"  he  acquiesced.  "  Turn  out  at  the  big 
poplar." 

He  stood  there  in  the  sunset,  his  rough  felt  hat  in 
his  hand,  the  slanting  rays  playing  through  his  fair 
hair,  watching  her  until  she  and  her  horse  coalesced 
with  the  blue  shadows  of  the  hillside. 

It  would  not  be  easy  to  win  her,  he  knew.  First, 
there  was  the  life  she  had  led,  in  what  a  different  en- 
vironment from  the  rough,  pioneer  one  that  he  had 
known!  Then  there  were  the  prejudices  of  her  rela- 
tives to  consider.  She  must  come  to  him  happily,  with- 
out one  regret. 


66          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

Harding  sighed ;  but  his  jaws  set  determinedly.  He 
had  been  taught,  as  a  child,  that  the  sweetest  apples 
hang  on  the  highest  branches :  they  are  not  easy  to 
reach,  but,  once  secured,  they  are  worth  the  having. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AN    ACCIDENT 

WITH  the  help  of  men  from  the  railroad  settle- 
ment Harding  finished  his  house  and  made  it 
weather-proof  before  the  frost  struck  deep  into  the 
soil.  Plowing  was  now  impossible,  but  there  was  much 
to  be  done.  The  inside  of  the  dwelling  had  to  be  fitted 
up,  and  logs  were  needed  for  the  stables  he  must  build 
in  the  spring.  Trees  large  enough  for  the  purpose 
were  scarce;  and  where  coal  is  unobtainable,  cutting 
wood  for  fuel  keeps  the  settler  busy  during  the  rigor- 
ous winter.  Harding  might  have  simplified  his  task 
by  buying  sawed  lumber,  but  the  long  railroad  haulage 
made  it  expensive,  and  he  never  shrank  from  labor 
which  led  to  economy.  He  was  not  a  niggard,  but  he 
had  ambitions  and  he  saw  that  his  money  must  be  made 
productive  if  those  ambitions  were  to  be  gratified. 

He  was  coming  home  one  evening  with  Devine, 
bringing  a  load  of  wood  on  his  jumper-sled.  It  had 
been  a  bitter  day,  and  the  cold  got  keener  as  a  leaden 
haze  crept  up  across  the  plain.  There  was  still  a  cu- 
rious gray  light,  and  objects  in  the  immediate  fore- 
ground stood  out  with  harsh  distinctness.  The  naked 
branches  of  the  poplars  on  the  edge  of  the  ravine  they 
skirted  cut  sharply  against  the  sky,  and  the  trail,  which 
ran  straight  across  the  thin  snow,  was  marked  by  a 
streak" of  dingy  blue.  The  wind  was  fitful,  but  when 

67 


68         HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

it  gathered  strength  the  men  bent  their  heads  and  shiv- 
ered in  their  old  deerskin  jackets. 

As  the  oxen  plodded  on,  Devine  looked  round  at  the 
sled  rather  anxiously. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  throw  some  of  these  logs  off, 
Craig  ?  "  he  suggested.  "  It's  a  heavy  load,  and  I'm 
afraid  there's  a  blizzard  working  up.  We  want  to  get 
home  before  it  breaks.'"' 

"  The  oxen  can  haul  them,"  Harding  replied. 
"  We'll  get  nothing  done  for  the  next  few  days,  and 
we  have  our  hands  plumb  full  this  winter." 

"  I  used  to  think  I  was  a  bit  of  a  hustler,"  Devine 
said,  "  but  you  sure  have  me  beat." 

"If  I'm  not  mistaken,  we'll  get  a  lie-off  to-morrow." 
Harding  struck  one  of  the  oxen  with  his  mittened  hand. 
"  Pull  out,  Bright,  before  you  freeze !  " 

The  big  animals  moved  faster,  and  the  tired  men 
plodded  on  silently.  There  is  no  easy  road  to  wealth 
on  the  wheatlands  of  the  West;  indeed,  it  is  only  by 
patient  labor  and  stoic  endurance  that  a  competence 
can  be  attained.  Devine  and  his  comrade  knew  this 
by  stern  experience,  and,  half  frozen  as  they  were, 
they  braced  themselves  for  the  effort  of  reaching  home. 
They  must  adapt  their  pace  to  the  oxen's,  and  it  was 
not  quick  enough  to  keep  them  warm. 

As  they  approached  a  bluff,  Harding  looked  up. 

"  Somebody  riding  pretty  fast !  "  he  said. 

A  beat  of  hoofs,  partly  muffled  by  the  snow,  came 
down  the  bitter  wind,  and  a  few  moments  later  a 
horseman  appeared  from  behind  the  trees.  He  was 
indistinct  in  the  gathering  gloom,  but  seemed  to  be 
riding  furiously,  and  Harding  drew  the  oxen  out  of 
the  trail. 


AN  ACCIDENT  69 

"  One  of  the  Allenwood  boys.  Young  Mowbray, 
isn't  it?  "  said  Devine. 

The  next  moment  Lance  Mowbray  dashed  past  them, 
scattering  the  snow.  The  horse  was  going  at  a  frantic 
gallop,  the  rider's  fur  coat  had  blown  open,  his  arms 
were  tense,  and  his  hands  clenched  on  the  bridle.  His 
face  was  set,  and  he  gazed  fixedly  ahead  as  if  he  did 
not  see  the  men  and  the  sledge. 

"  It's  that  wild  brute  of  a  range  horse,"  Harding 
remarked.  "  Nearly  bucked  the  boy  off  the  last  time 
he  passed  my  place.  Something  in  the  bluff  must  have 
scared  him ;  he  has  the  bit  in  his  teeth." 

"  Looks  like  it,"  Devine  agreed.  "  Young  Mow- 
bray can  ride,  but  I'm  expecting  trouble  when  he  makes 
the  timber." 

They  turned  and  stopped  to  watch,  for  the  Allen- 
wood  trail  ran  down  the  side  of  the  ravine  among  the 
trees  not  far  away.  Horse  and  rider  rapidly  grew 
indistinct  and  vanished  over  the  edge  of  the  hollow. 
Then  there  was  a  dull  thud  and  the  beat  of  hoofs  sud- 
denly broke  off.  The  deep  silence  that  followed  was 
ominous. 

"  Throw  the  load  off,  and  bring  the  oxen !  "  cried 
Harding  as  he  started  to  run  along  the  trail. 

He  was  breathless  when  he  reached  the  edge  of  the 
declivity;  but  he  saw  nothing  when  he  looked  down. 
A  blurred  network  of  trunks  and  branches  rose  from 
the  shadowy  depths  with  a  pale  glimmer  of  snow  be- 
neath; that  was  all,  and  there  was  no  sound  except 
the  wail  of  the  rising  wind.  Plunging  straight  down 
through  the  timber,  Harding  made  for  a  bend  of  the 
trail  where  there  was  a  precipitous  bank,  and  on  reach- 
ing it  he  saw  a  big,  dark  object  lying  in  the  snow 


70         HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

some  distance  beneath  him.  This  was  the  horse;  its 
rider  could  not  be  far  away.  When  he  scrambled 
down  he  found  the  boy  lying  limp  and  still,  his  fur  cap 
fallen  off  and  his  coat  torn  away  from  his  body.  His 
face  looked  very  white,  his  eyes  were  closed,  and  he 
did  not  answer  when  Harding  spoke.  Kneeling  down, 
he  saw  that  the  lad  was  alive  but  unconscious.  Noth- 
ing could  be  done  until  Devine  arrived. 

It  was  a  relief  when  he  heard  the  oxen  stumbling 
through  the  brush.  Presently  Devine  came  running 
up,  and  after  a  glance  at  the  boy  turned  and  felt  the 
horse. 

"  Stone  dead !     What's  the  matter  with  Mowbray  ?  " 

"  Some  ribs  broken,  I  suspect,"  said  Harding. 
"  Bring  the  sled  close  up.  We've  got  to  take  him 
home." 

They  laid  Lance  on  the  jumper,  and  Harding 
stripped  off  his  own  skin  coat  and  wrapped  it  round 
the  boy. 

"  The  shock's  perhaps  the  worst  thing,  and  he  feels 
cold." 

Both  had  had  some  experience  of  accidents  in  a 
country  where  surgical  assistance  could  seldom  be  ob- 
tained, and  Devine  nodded  agreement. 

"  Guess  we'll  have  trouble  in  hauling  up  the  grade 
and  getting  to  Allenwood  before  the  blizzard,  but  we've 
got  to  make  it" 

The  opposite  slope  was  rough  and  steep,  and  the 
jumper  too  wide  to  pass  easily  between  the  trees. 
They  had  to  lift  it,  and  help  the  oxen  here  and  there; 
but  they  struggled  up  and  then  found  that  their  diffi- 
culties were  not  over  when  they  reached  the  open  plain. 
The  wind  had  risen  while  they  were  in  the  hollow  and 


AN  ACCIDENT  71 

was  now  blowing  the  dry  snow  about.  It  had  grown 
dark  and  the  trail  was  faint. 

"  Might  be  wiser  to  take  him  to  your  homestead," 
Devine  suggested;  "but  they'll  be  able  to  look  after 
him  better  at  the  Grange.  Get  a  move  on  the  beasts, 
Craig ;  we've  no  time  to  lose." 

Harding  urged  the  oxen,  which  stepped  out  briskly 
with  their  lighter  load,  but  he  had  some  difficulty  in 
guiding  them,  though  Devine  went  ahead  to  keep  the 
trail.  It  was  impossible  to  see  any  distance,  and  there 
was  no  landmark  on  the  bare  white  level;  the  savage 
wind  buffeted  their  smarting  faces  and  filled  their  eyes 
with  snow.  The  cold  struck  through  Harding's  un- 
protected body  like  a  knife,  but  he  went  on  stubbornly, 
keeping  his  eyes  on  Devine's  half -distinguishable  fig- 
ure. He  was  sorry  for  the  unconscious  youngster,  but 
he  did  not  glance  at  him.  This  was  a  time  when  pity 
was  best  expressed  in  action. 

They  had  gone  about  two  miles  when  the  blizzard 
broke  upon  them  in  a  blinding  cloud  of  snow  and  the 
cold  suddenly  increased.  Though  he  wore  a  thick 
jacket,  Harding  felt  as  if  his  flesh  had  changed  to  ice ; 
his  hands  were  numb,  and  his  feet  seemed  dead.  He 
knew  the  risk  he  ran  of  being  crippled  by  frostbite; 
but  to  take  his  coat  back  might  cost  Lance  his  life. 

They  had  been  struggling  forward  for  a  long  time 
when  Devine  stopped  and  came  back. 

"  We've  been  off  the  trail  for  the  last  ten  minutes," 
he  said.  "  Guess  it's  got  snowed  up." 

It  was  a  bald  statement  of  an  alarming  situation. 
Their  only  guide  had  failed  them,  and  unless  they 
could  -soon  find  shelter  all  must  perish.  It  might, 
perhaps,  be  possible  to  keep  moving  for  another  hour 


72          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

or  two,  and  then  they  would  sink  down,  exhausted, 
to  freeze.  Yet,  having  faced  similar  perils  and  es- 
caped, they  were  not  utterly  dismayed. 

"  The  long  rise  can't  be  very  far  off,"  Harding  said 
hopefully.  "  If  we  could  make  it,  there's  a  little 
coulee  running  down  the  other  side.  Then  we  ought 
to  see  the  Grange  lights  when  we  strike  the  lake." 

His  voice  was  scarcely  audible  through  the  roar  of 
the  icy  gale,  but  Devine  caught  a  word  or  two  and 
understood. 

"  Then,"  he  shouted  back,  "  you  want  to  keep  the 
wind  on  your  left  cheek!  " 

It  was  the  only  guide  to  the  direction  of  the  blast, 
for  the  snow  whirled  about  them  every  way  at  once, 
and  sight  was  useless  amid  the  blinding  haze.  Feel- 
ing, however,  to  some  extent  remained,  and  although 
their  faces  were  freezing  into  dangerous  insensibility, 
so  long  as  they  kept  their  course  one  side  was  still  a 
little  more  painful  than  the  other.  They  struggled  on, 
urging  the  jaded  oxen,  and  dragging  them  by  their 
heads  where  the  drifts  were  deep.  The  snow  seemed 
to  thicken  as  they  went.  They  could  not  see  each  other 
a  yard  or  two  apart,  and  the  power  that  kept  them  on 
their  feet  was  dying  out  of  them.  Both  had  been 
working  hard  since  sunrise,  and  weary  flesh  and  blood 
cannot  long  endure  a  furious  wind  when  the  ther- 
mometer falls  to  forty  or  fifty  below.  Nothing  broke 
the  surface  of  the  plain  except  the  blowing  waves  of 
snow  that  swirled  across  their  course  and  beat  into 
their  faces.  It  seemed  impossible  that  they  could  keep 
on.  Hope  had  almost  left  them  when  Devine  suddenly, 
called  out : 

"  It's  surely  rising  ground !  " 


AN  ACCIDENT  73 

Harding  imagined  by  the  oxen's  slower  pace,  and 
his  own  labored  breathing,  that  his  comrade  was  right, 
but  the  rise  was  gradual  and  extensive.  They  might 
wander  across  it  without  coming  near  the  lake;  but 
they  could  take  no  precautions  and  much  must  be  left 
to  chance. 

"  Get  on !  "  he  said  curtly. 

By  the  force  of  the  wind  which  presently  met  them 
he  thought  they  had  reached  the  summit.  Somewhere 
near  them  a  watercourse  started  and  ran  down  to  the 
lake;  but  the  men  could  not  tell  which  way  to  turn, 
although  they  knew  that  the  decision  would  be  momen- 
tous. One  way  led  to  shelter,  the  other  to  death  in  the 
snowy  wilds. 

"  Left  and  down !  "  Harding  cried  at  a  venture. 

They  trudged  on,  Devine  a  few  paces  in  front  pick- 
ing out  the  trail,  and  Harding  urging  forward  the 
snow-blinded  oxen.  They  had  not  gone  more  than  a 
few  yards  when  Devine  suddenly  disappeared.  There 
was  a  rush  of  loosened  snow  apparently  falling  into  a 
hollow,  and  then  his  voice  rose,  hoarse  but  exultant. 

"  We've  struck  the  coulee !  " 

He  scrambled  out  and  it  was  comparatively  easy  to 
follow  the  ravine  downhill;  and  soon  after  they  left 
it  the  surface  grew  unusually  level,  and  no  tufts  of 
withered  grass  broke  the  snow. 

"  Looks  like  the  lake,"  said  Devine.  "  We'll  be  safe 
once  we  hit  the  other  side." 

Harding  was  nearly  frozen,  and  he  began  to  despair 
of  ever  reaching  the  Grange;  but  he  roused  himself 
from  the  lethargy  into  which  he  was  sinking  when  a 
faint  yellow  glimmer  shone  through  the  swirling  snow. 
It  grew  brighter,  more  lights  appeared,  and  they  toiled 


74         HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

up  to  the  front  of  a  building.  With  some  trouble  De- 
vine  found  the  door  and  knocked. 

It  was  opened  in  a  few  moments  by  Gerald  Mow- 
bray,  who  stood  looking  out  in  surprise. 

Devine  briefly  explained. 

"If  it's  likely  to  scare  his  mother,  get  her  out  of 
the  way,"  he  added.  "  We  have  to  bring  him  in  at 
once.  Send  somebody  for  the  oxen,  and  show  us 
where  to  go !  " 

"  Wait  a  moment  and  I'll  meet  you,"  said  Gerald, 
hastening  into  the  house. 

When  he  disappeared,  Devine  turned  to  Harding. 

"  Get  hold !  You  don't  want  to  shake  him,  but  the 
coats  will  keep  him  pretty  safe." 

With  some  trouble  they  carried  him  in,  passed 
through  a  vestibule,  and  came  with  shuffling  steps  into 
a  large  hall.  It  was  well  lighted,  and  so  warm  that 
Harding  felt  limp  and  dizzy  from  the  sudden  change 
of  temperature.  His  skin  burned,  the  blood  rushed  to 
his  head,  and  he  stopped  for  fear  he  should  drop  his 
burden.  Gerald,  it  seemed,  had  not  had  time  to  warn 
the  people  in  the  hall,  and  Beatrice  rose  with  a  startled 
cry.  One  or  two  women  sat  with  white  faces,  as  if 
stupefied  by  alarm,  and  two  or  three  men  got  up  hur- 
riedly. Harding  indistinctly  recognized  Colonel  Mow- 
bray  among  them. 

"Be  quick!  Get  hold  of  him!"  he  called  to  the 
nearest. 

He  was  replaced  by  two  willing  helpers,  and,  half 
dazed  and  not  knowing  what  to  do,  he  slackly  followed 
the  others  up  the  middle  of  the  floor.  All  who  were 
not  needed  stood  watching  them,  for  they  made  a 


AN  ACCIDENT  75 

striking  group  as  they  moved  slowly  forward,  carry- 
ing what  seemed  to  be  a  shapeless  bundle  of  snowy 
furs.  Devine  was  white  from  head  to  foot,  a  bulky 
figure  in  his  shaggy  coat  and  cap,  though  the  bent 
forms  of  the  other  men  partly  concealed  him;  Hard- 
ing came  alone,  walking  unsteadily,  with  the  snow  fall- 
ing off  him  in  glistening  powder,  his  face  haggard,  and 
his  frost-split  lips  covered  with  congealed  blood. 

As  the  little  group  passed  on,  following  Gerald, 
Harding  suddenly  reeled,  and,  clutching  at  the  back  of 
a  chair,  fell  into  it  with  a  crash.  After  that  he  was 
not  sure  of  anything  until  some  one  brought  him  a 
glass  of  wine,  and  soon  afterward  Devine  came  back 
with  Gerald. 

"  My  mother  begs  you  will  excuse  her,  but  she'll 
thank  you  before  you  go,"  he  said.  "  The  Colonel 
hopes  to  see  you  shortly,  but  he's  busy  with  Lance,  and 
we're  fortunate  in  having  a  man  who  should  have 
been  a  doctor.  Now  if  you'll  come  with  me,  I'll  give 
you  a  change  of  clothes.  Your  oxen  are  in  the 
stable." 

"  We  can't  stay,"  remonstrated  Harding. 

"  It's  impossible  for  you  to  go  home." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Devine,  touching  Harding's 
arm.  "  Better  get  up,  Craig,  before  the  snow  melts  on 
you." 

Gerald  gave  them  clothes,  and  then,  saying  that  he 
was  needed,  left  them  alone.  After  they  had  changed, 
Devine  found  his  way  to  the  stable  to  see  if  the  oxen 
were  any  the  worse,  and  Harding  went  back  to  the 
hall.  A  group  of  men  and  women  were  talking  in 
low  voices,  but  no  one  spoke  to  him,  and  he  sat  down  in 


76          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

a  corner,  feeling  awkward  and  uncomfortable  in  his 
borrowed  garments.  Evidently  the  Mowbrays  had 
been  entertaining  some  of  their  neighbors  who,  to 
judge  by  scraps  of  conversation  he  overheard,  thought 
they  would  better  take  their  leave  but  doubted  if  they 
could  reach  home.  Harding  knew  that  he  could  not 
do  so,  but  he  felt  averse  to  accepting  Mowbray's  hospi- 
tality, and  he  feared  that  Hester  would  be  anxious 
about  his  safety. 

He  was  still  sitting  in  the  corner  when  Beatrice  came 
up  to  him. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  have  been  neglected,  but  you  can 
understand  that  we  are  rather  upset,"  she  said. 

"  How  is  your  brother?  "  Harding  asked. 

"  Better  than  we  thought  at  first.  One  of  our 
friends  has  bandaged  him.  There  are  two  ribs  broken, 
but  he  declares  he  now  feels  fairly  comfortable." 

"  I'm  afraid  he's  exaggerating,  but  it's  a  good  sign. 
Anyway,  I'm  glad  to  hear  he's  conscious." 

"  He  was  conscious  before  you  brought  him  home. 
He  says  he  tried  to  speak  to  you,  but  you  didn't  hear 
him." ' 

"That's  possible,"  Harding  replied.  "The  trail 
wasn't  very  good  —  and  we  were  busy." 

Beatrice  gave  him  a  strange  look. 

"  So  one  would  imagine !  There  was  probably  no 
trail  at  all.  Two  of  our  friends  who  live  half  a  mile 
off  don't  think  they  can  get  back.  It's  fortunate  for  us 
that  you  and  your  partner  had  the  strength  and  cour- 
age  " 

"What  could  we  do?"  Harding  asked.  "You 
wouldn't  have  expected  us  to  leave  him  in  the  bluff?  " 

Beatrice's  eyes  sparkled,  and  a  flush  of  color  crept 


AN  ACCIDENT  77 

into  her  face.  Harding  thought  she  was  wonderfully 
beautiful,  and  feared  it  was  unwise  to  look  at  her  lest 
he  should  make  a  fool  of  himself. 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  wouldn't  have  expected  you  to 
give  him  your  coat;  but  that  was  very  fine  of  you,"  she 
said.  "  You  must  have  known  the  risk  you  took. 
When  you  came  in  you  looked  worse  than  he  did." 

It  struck  Harding  as  significant  that  she  should  have 
noticed  his  appearance  in  the  midst  of  her  alarm ;  but 
it  might  not  mean  much,  after  all.  Women  were  often 
more  observant  than  men. 

"  Then  I  ought  to  have  been  ashamed.  It  was  the 
shock  we  were  afraid  of.  You  see,  after  a  bad  acci- 
dent there's  often  a  collapse,  and  when  one's  in  that 
state  even  moderate  cold  is  dangerous." 

"  How  do  you  know  these  things?  "  Beatrice  asked. 

"  When  you  live  as  we  do,  you  learn  something  about 
accidents,"  he  answered. 

Beatrice  gave  him  a  look  that  thrilled  him. 

"  I  promised  Lance  that  I  would  not  stay  but  a  min- 
ute," she  said;  "  but  I  will  send  Mr.  Kenwyne  to  look 
after  you."  She  added  in  a  lower  voice :  "  I  have 
not  attempted  to  thank  you,  but  you  must  believe  that 
we're  very,  very  grateful." 

Harding's  eyes  followed  her  across  the  room  and 
lingered  on  her  when  she  stopped  a  moment  to  speak 
with  one  of  the  neighbors.  Kenwyne's  voice  at  his 
elbow  roused  him. 

"  Colonel  Mowbray  expects  you  to  remain  here,  but 
on  the  whole  I  think  you'd  better  come  with  me," 
Kenwyne  was  saying.  "  They're  naturally  in  some 
confusion,  and  my  farm  isn't  very  far.  I  think  my 
team  can  make  it." 


78         HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

Harding  was  glad  to  get  away  quietly,  but  he  left 
a  message  that  he  hoped  to  call  in  the  morning  for  his 
oxen  and  for  news  of  Lance. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AN    UNEXPECTED   ESCAPE 

the  morning  after  the  accident  Colonel  Mow- 
bray  sat  at  breakfast  with  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter. The  gale  had  fallen  in  the  night,  and  although  the 
snow  lay  deep  about  the  house,  Gerald  had  already 
gone  out  with  a  hired  man  to  see  how  the  range  horses, 
which  were  left  loose  in  the  winter,  had  fared  during 
the  storm.  Lance  was  feverish,  but  there  was  nothing 
in  his  condition  to  cause  anxiety,  and  he  was  in  charge 
of  a  man  whom  some  youthful  escapade  had  prevented 
from  obtaining  a  medical  diploma.  There  were  one 
or  two  others  of  his  kind  at  Allenwood  whose  careers 
had  been  blighted  by  boyish  folly.  Breakfast  had 
been  well  served,  for  everything  went  smoothly  at  the 
Grange;  in  spite  of  the  low  temperature  oiitside,  the 
room  was  comfortably  warm,  and  the  china  and  the 
table  appointments  showed  artistic  taste. 

Colonel  Mowbray  looked  thoughtfully  stern. 

"  Perhaps  it  was  as  well  Kenwyne  took  the  Ameri- 
cans home  last  night,"  he  remarked. 

"  You  asked  them  to  stay,"  Beatrice  said,  with  more 
indignation  than  she  cared  to  show ;  "  and  after  what 
they  did " 

Mowbray  cut  her  short. 

"  I  'cannot  deny  that  we  are  heavily  in  their  debt, 
and  I  shall  take  the  first  opportunity  for  thanking  them. 

79 


8o          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

In  fact,  if  I  can  make  any  return  in  the  shape  of  prac- 
tical help,  I  shall  be  glad.  All  the  same,  to  have  had 
them  here  would  have  meant  our  putting  them  on  a 
more  intimate  footing  than  might  be  wise." 

Beatrice  smiled,  but  said  nothing.  She  respected  her 
father,  but  the  thought  of  his  helping  such  a  man  as 
Harding  was  amusing. 

"  From  what  I've  heard  about  Mr.  Harding,  I  don't 
think  he  would  have  presumed  upon  it,"  Mrs.  Mow- 
bray  replied.  "  Besides,  it  looks  as  if  we  owed  Lance's 
life  to  him  and  his  companion  and  I  really  don't  see 
why  you  object  to  the  man.  Of  course,  it  was  tact- 
less of  him  to  plow  up  our  trail,  but  he  was  within  his 
rights." 

Mowbray  looked  at  her  sharply.  His  wife  was  gen- 
erally docile  and  seldom  questioned  his  decisions,  but 
she  now  and  then  showed  an  unexpected  firmness. 

"  I  don't  object  to  him,  personally.  For  that  mat- 
ter, I  know  very  little  about  him,  good  or  bad,"  he 
said;  and  his  tone  implied  that  he  was  not  anxious  to 
learn  anything  more.  "  It  is  rather  what  he  stands 
for  that  I  disapprove  of." 

"What  does  he  stand  for?" 

"What  foolish  people  sometimes  call  Progress  — 
the  taint  of  commercialism,  purely  utilitarian  ideas ;  in 
short,  all  I've  tried  to  keep  Allenwood  free  from. 
Look  at  England!  You  know  how  the  old  friendly 
relations  between  landlord  and  tenant  have  been  over- 
thrown." 

"I  wonder  whether  they  were  always  friendly?" 
Beatrice  interposed. 

'  They  ought  to  have  been  friendly,  and  in  most  of 
the  instances  I  can  think  of  they  were.     But  what  can 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ESCAPE  81 

one  expect  when  a  rich  tradesman  buys  up  a  fine  estate, 
and  manages  it  on  what  he  calls  '  business  lines '  ? 
This  must  mean  putting  the  screw  of  a  merciless  com- 
petition upon  the  farmer.  On  the  other  hand,  you 
see  men  with  honored  names  living  in  extravagant 
luxury  without  a  thought  of  their  duty  to  their  land, 
gambling  on  the  Stock  Exchange  —  even  singing  in 
music  halls.  The  country's  in  a  bad  way  when  you 
read  of  its  old  aristocracy  opening  hat  shops." 

"  But  what  are  the  poor  people  to  do  if  they  have 
no  money?  "  Beatrice  asked. 

"  The  point  is  that  they're  being  ruined  by  their 
own  folly  and  the  chaotic  way  things  have  been  allowed 
to  drift;  but  the  other  side  of  the  picture's  worse. 
When  one  thinks  of  wealth  and  poverty  jostling  each 
other  in  the  towns;  oppressive  avarice  and  sullen  dis- 
content instead  of  helpful  cooperation!  The  com- 
munity plundered  by  trusts!  Industries  wrecked  by 
strikes!  This  is  what  comes  of  free  competition  and 
contempt  for  authority;  and  the  false  principle  that 
a  man  must  turn  all  his  talents  to  the  making  of  money 
is  at  the  root  of  it  all." 

It  was  a  favorite  hobby  of  the  Colonel's,  and  Mrs. 
Mowbray  made  no  remark;  but  Beatrice  was  pleased 
to  see  that  he  had  forgotten  Harding. 

"  You  would  have  made  a  good  feudal  baron,"  she 
said  with  a  smile.  "  Your  retainers  wouldn't  have  had 
many  real  grievances,  but  you  would  always  have  been 
on  the  king's  side." 

"  The  first  principle  of  all  firm  and  successful  gov- 
ernment is  that  the  king  can  do  no  wrong." 

"  We  don't  challenge  it  at  Allenwood,  and  it  really 
seems  to  work  well,"  Beatrice  answered  lightly;  and 


82          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

then,  because  Mowbray  insisted  on  formal  manners, 
she  turned  to  her  mother.  "  And  now,  with  your  per- 
mission, I  had  better  go  to  Lance." 

When  she  left  them  Mowbray  frowned. 

"  There's  another  matter  I  want  to  talk  about,"  he 
said.  "  I'm  inclined  to  think  we'll  have  to  do  away 
with  the  card  tables  when  the  younger  people  spend  the 
evening  with  us." 

"  But  you're  fond  of  a  game !  " 

"  Yes.  I'll  confess  that  a  close  game  of  whist  is 
one  of  my  keenest  pleasures,  and  if  I  finish  two  or  three 
dollars  to  the  good  it  adds  to  the  zest.  For  all  that, 
one  must  be  consistent,  and  I've  grounds  for  believing 
there  has  been  too  much  high  play  of  late.  The  of- 
fenders will  have  to  be  dealt  with  if  I  can  find  them 
out." 

Mrs.  Mowbray  knew  that  her  husband's  first  object 
was  the  good  of  the  settlement,  and  that  he  would 
make  any  personal  sacrifice  to  secure  it. 

"  We  can  have  music,  or  get  up  a  dance  instead,"  she 
suggested ;  and  added  anxiously :  "  You  don't  think 
that  Gerald " 

"  I'd  have  grave  suspicions,  only  that  he  knows  what 
to  expect,"  Mowbray  answered  grimly.  "  Something 
might  be  learned  from  Lance,  but  it  would  not  be  fair 
to  ask." 

"  He  wouldn't  tell,"  Mrs.  Mowbray  said  stoutly, 
knowing  her  husband's  sense  of  honor.  "  Do  you 
think  it's  serious  enough  to  be  disturbed  about?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  so,  although  at  the  moment  I  can  hardly 
judge.  A  game  of  cards  in  public,  for  strictly  moder- 
ate points,  or  a  small  wager  on  a  race,  can  do  the  boys 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ESCAPE  83 

no  harm ;  but  as  soon  as  the  stake  gets  large  enough  to 
be  worth  winning  for  itself,  it  leads  to  trouble;  and 
systematic,  secret  gambling  is  a  dangerous  thing.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  I  won't  have  it  at  Allen  wood.  At 
present  I  can  do  nothing  but  keep  a  careful  watch." 

An  hour  later  Mrs.  Mowbray  was  sitting  with  Lance, 
when  word  was  brought  her  that  Harding  had  called. 

"  Let  him  come  up  here,  if  only  for  a  minute," 
Lance  begged. 

"  Well,  but  it  must  not  be  longer,"  his  mother  con- 
sented. 

Harding  bowed  to  her  respectfully  when  he  entered 
the  room;  then  he  turned  to  Lance  with  a  smile. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  looking  much  better  than  I  ex- 
pected." 

Lance  gave  him  his  hand,  though  he  winced  as  he 
held  it  out,  and  his  mother  noticed  Harding's  quick 
movement  to  save  him  a  painful  effort.  There  was  a 
gentleness  that  pleased  her  in  the  prairie  man's  face. 

"  I  don't  want  to  embarrass  you,  but  you'll  under- 
stand how  I  feel  about  what  you  did  for  me,"  said 
Lance.  "  I  won't  forget  it." 

"  Pshaw !  "  returned  Harding.  "  We  all  get  into 
scrapes.  I  wouldn't  be  here  now  if  other  people  hadn't 
dragged  me  clear  of  a  mower-knife,  and  once  out  of 
the  way  of  a  locomotive  when  my  team  balked  in  the 
middle  of  the  track." 

"  I  don't  suppose  any  of  the  fellows  gave  you  his 
clothes  with  the  thermometer  at  minus  forty.  But  I 
won't  say  any  more  on  that  point.  Was  my  horse 
killed?" 

"On  the  spot!" 


84          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

Lance  looked  troubled. 

"  Well,  it  was  my  own  fault,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I 
was  trying  a  new  headstall,  and  I  wasn't  very  careful 
in  linking  up  the  bit." 

He  began  to  talk  about  the  latest  types  of  harness, 
and  listened  with  obvious  interest  to  Harding's  views 
on  the  subject,  but  after  a  while  his  voice  grew  feeble, 
and  his  mother  interrupted. 

"  You'll  come  back  and  see  me  when  I'm  better, 
won't  you?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

Harding  made  a  vague  sign  of  assent,  and  left  the 
room  with  Mrs.  Mowbray.  When  they  reached  the 
hall,  she  stopped  him. 

"  You  did  us  a  great  service  last  night  —  I  can  find 
no  adequate  way  of  expressing  my  gratitude,"  she 
said. 

Harding  saw  that  she  had  not  spoken  out  of  mere 
conventional  politeness. 

"  I  think  you  make  too  much  of  it.  Certainly,  it 
was  fortunate  we  happened  to  come  along;  the  rest 
followed.  But  I  can  understand  how  you  feel  —  I 
had  a  good  mother." 

She  was  pleased  by  his  reply,  and  she  had  watched 
him  closely  while  he  talked  to  Lance.  The  man  was 
modest  and  yet  quietly  sure  of  himself.  He  had 
shown  no  awkwardness,  and  his  rather  formal  defer- 
ence to  herself  was  flattering.  She  somehow  felt  that 
he  would  not  have  offered  it  solely  on  account  of  her 
station. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  your  son  looking  pretty  bright," 
Harding  went  on. 

'  You  roused  him.  He  was  very  listless  and  heavy 
until  you  came." 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ESCAPE  85 

"  I'm  afraid  I  talked  too  much ;  it's  a  way  I  some- 
times have."  Harding  smiled.  Then  he  looked  at 
her  directly.  "  He  asked  me  to  come  back." 

Mrs.  Mowbray  knew  he  was  shrewd  enough  to  take 
a  hint,  and  that  she  could  without  discourtesy  prevent 
his  coming;  still,  she  did  not  wish  to  do  so.  She  had 
heard  her  husband's  views,  to  which  she  generally  de- 
ferred; but  she  liked  Harding,  and  he  had  saved  her 
son's  life.  Moreover,  she  had  a  suspicion  that  his  in- 
fluence would  be  good  for  the  boy. 

"  I  hope  you  will  come  whenever  it  pleases  you," 
she  said  with  quiet  sincerity. 

"  It  will  please  me  very  much.  I'll  make  use  of  the 
privilege  as  long  as  he  finds  that  I  amuse  him." 

Harding  went  home  with  a  feeling  of  half -exultant 
satisfaction.  Lance,  for  whom  he  had  a  rather  curi- 
ous liking,  had  been  unmistakably  glad  to  see  him  and, 
what  was  more  important,  Mrs.  Mowbray  was  now  his 
friend.  For  all  that,  he  knew  that  tact  was  needed : 
the  Colonel,  while  no  doubt  grateful,  did  not  approve 
of  him,  and  he  must  carefully  avoid  doing  anything 
that  might  imply  a  readiness  to  take  advantage  of  the 
slight  favor  he  had  been  granted.  Harding  was  not  an 
adventurer,  and  the  situation  was  galling  to  his  pride, 
but  he  was  shrewd  and  was  willing  to  make  some  sacri- 
fice if  it  gave  him  an  opportunity  for  seeing  Beatrice. 

When  Harding  returned  a  week  later  he  met  the  girl 
for  a  few  moments,  and  had  to  be  content  with  this. 
Lance  brightened  up  noticeably  when  he  talked  to  him, 
and  as  he  was  leaving  pressed  him  to  come  again ;  but 
the  unqualified  doctor,  whom  he  met  in  the  hall,  did 
not  seem  satisfied  with  the  patient's  progress. 

Harding  waited  for  a  while  before  he  went  back. 


86          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

He  found  Mrs.  Mowbray  alone  on  his  arrival,  and 
thought  she  looked  anxious  when  he  asked  how  Lance 
was  getting  on. 

"  He  doesn't  seem  to  improve  as  quickly  as  he  ought, 
and  Mr.  Carson's  puzzled,"  she  said.  "  He  tells  me 
the  injury  is  not  serious  enough  to  account  for  my  boy's 
low  condition,  but  he  keeps  restless  and  feverish,  and 
doesn't  sleep."  Then,  after  a  moment,  she  added  con- 
fidentially :  "  One  could  imagine  that  he  has  some- 
thing on  his  mind." 

"  Have  you  any  suspicion  what  it  is  ?  " 

"No — "  She  hesitated.  "That  is,  nothing  defi- 
nite ;  and  as  he  has  given  me  no  hint,  it's  possible  that 
I'm  mistaken  in  thinking  that  he  is  disturbed.  But 
you  may  go  in ;  you  seem  to  cheer  him." 

Harding  pondered  this.  He  had  been  used  to  peo- 
ple who  expressed  their  thoughts  with  frank  directness, 
but  he  saw  that  Mrs.  Mowbray  was  of  a  different 
stamp.  She  was  most  fastidious,  yet  she  had  taken 
him  into  her  confidence  as  far  as  her  reserve  permitted. 
After  all,  there  were  things  which  a  boy  would  confess 
to  a  man  outside  his  family  sooner  than  to  his  mother. 

"  Well,"  he  said  as  meaningly  as  he  thought  advis- 
able, "  I'll  do  what  I  can." 

On  entering  the  sick  room  he  thought  her  anxiety 
was  justified.  Lance  did  not  look  well,  although  he 
smiled  at  his  visitor. 

"  I'm  glad  you  came,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  change  to 
see  somebody  fresh.  The  boys  mean  well  but  they 
worry  me." 

"  You'd  get  tired  of  me  if  I  came  oftener,"  Harding 
answered  with  a  laugh. 

They  talked  for  a  few  minutes  about  a  sheep  dog 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ESCAPE  87 

that  had  been  given  to  Lance ;  and  then,  during  a  slight 
pause,  the  boy  closed  his  eyes  with  a  sigh.  Harding 
looked  at  him  keenly. 

"  I'm  told  you're  not  sleeping  well,"  he  said;  "  and 
you  don't  look  as  fit  as  you  ought.  I  guess  lying  on 
your  back  gets  monotonous." 

"  Yes,"  Lance  answered  listlessly.  "  Then  I'm  wor- 
ried about  losing  my  horse." 

"  One  feels  that  kind  of  thing,  of  course ;  but  it 
wasn't  an  animal  I'd  get  attached  to.  Hard  in  the 
mouth,  I  guess,  a  bad  buck- jumper,  and  a  wicked  eye. 
On  the  whole,  you're  better  off  without  him." 

"  Perhaps  you're  right,  and  I  meant  to  sell  him.  I'd 
had  offers,  and  the  Warrior  blood  brings  a  long  price." 

"Ah!     That  means  you  wanted  the  money?" 

Lance  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  he 
answered  half  resentfully: 

"  I  did." 

It  was  obvious  to  Harding  that  delicacy  was  required 
here.  Mrs.  Mowbray  was  right  in  her  suspicions,  but 
if  he  made  a  mistake  Lance  would  take  alarm.  Hard- 
ing feared,  however,  that  tact  was  not  much  in  his  line. 

"  I  am  an  outsider  here,"  he  said  with  blunt  direct- 
ness ;  "  but  perhaps  that's  a  reason  why  you  can  talk  to 
me  candidly.  It's  sometimes  embarrassing  to  tell  one's 
intimate  friends  about  one's  troubles.  Why  did  you 
want  the  money  ?  " 

Lance  flushed  and  hesitated,  but  he  gathered  confi- 
dence from  Harding's  grave  expression. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  I'd  got  myself  into  an  awkward 
mess." 

"  One  does  now  and  then.  I've  been  fixed  that  way 
myself.  Perhaps  I  can  help." 


88          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  No ;  you  can't,"  Lance  said  firmly.  "  All  the  same, 
it's  a  relief  to  take  somebody  into  my  confidence. 
Well,  I  owed  a  good  deal  of  money;  I'd  been  playing 
cards." 

"  Do  you  pay  debts  of  that  kind  at  once  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  It's  a  matter  of  principle;  though  the 
boys  wouldn't  have  pressed  me." 

"  I'd  have  let  them  wait,"  said  Harding.  "  But  I 
don't  play  cards.  I  suppose  you  borrowed  the  money 
from  somebody  else,  and  he  wants  it  back.  Now  the 
proper  person  for  you  to  go  to  is  your  father." 

Lance  colored  and  hesitated  again. 

"  I  can't !  "  he  blurted  out  with  evident  effort.     "  It's 
not  because  I'm  afraid.     He'd  certainly  be  furious  — 
I'm  not  thinking  of  that.     There's  a  reason  why  it 
would  hit  him  particularly  hard.     Besides,  you  know, 
we're  far  from  rich." 

Having  learned  something  about  Gerald  Mowbray, 
Harding  understood  the  lad's  reticence.  Indeed,  he 
respected  his  loyalty  to  his  brother. 

"  Very  well.  If  you'll  tell  me  what  you  owe,  and 
where  you  got  the  money,  I  may  suggest  something." 

He  had  expected  Lance  to  refuse ;  but,  worn  by  pain 
and  anxious  as  he  was,  the  boy  was  willing  to  seize 
upon  any  hope  of  escape.  He  explained  his  affairs 
very  fully,  and  Harding  made  a  note  of  the  amount  and 
of  a  name  that  was  not  unfamiliar  to  him. 

When  Lance  finished  his  story  and  dropped  back 
among  his  pillows  with  a  flushed  face,  there  was  a 
short  silence  in  the  room. 

Harding  was  not,  as  a  rule,  rashly  generous ;  but  he 
liked  the  boy,  and  Lance  was  Beatrice's  brother  —  that 
in  itself  was  a  strong  claim  on  him.  Then,  Mrs.  Mow- 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ESCAPE  89 

bray  had  been  gracious  to  him;  though  he  was  a 
stranger  and  in  a  sense  an  intruder,  she  had  taken  him 
into  her  confidence,  and  he  felt  a  deep  respect  for  her. 
There  was  in  his  mind,  however,  no  thought  of  profit- 
ing by  the  situation;  indeed,  he  was  frankly  reluctant 
to  part  with  money  which  could  be  better  employed  than 
in  paying  gambling  debts. 

"  So  you  went  to  Davies,  of  Winnipeg  —  a  mort- 
gage broker  ?  "  he  remarked.  "  Who  told  you  about 
him?  These  fellows  don't  lend  to  people  they  know 
nothing  about." 

"  A  man  introduced  me,"  Lance  said  awkwardly ; 
and  Harding  again  suspected  Gerald. 

"  When  you  signed  his  note  for  the  sum  you  wanted, 
how  much  did  you  really  get  ?  " 

Lance  smiled  ruefully  as  he  told  him. 

"  You  seem  to  know  their  tricks,"  he  added. 

"  Some  of  them,"  Harding  replied  dryly.  "  Now, 
if  you'll  give  me  your  word  that  you  won't  stake  a 
dollar  on  a  horse  or  card  again,  I'll  take  up  this  debt ; 
but  I  don't  want  your  promise  unless  you  mean  to  keep 
it." 

Lance's  eyes  were  eager,  though  his  face  was  red. 

"  I've  had  my  lesson.  It  was  the  first  time  I'd  really 
played  high,  and  I  was  a  bit  excited ;  the  room  was  hot 
and  full  of  smoke,  and  they'd  brought  in  a  good  deal  of 
whisky."  Then  he  pulled  himself  up.  "  But  I  can't 
let  you  do  this ;  and  I  don't  see " 

"Why  I'm  willing  to  help?"  Harding  finished  for 
him.  "  Well,  one's  motives  aren't  always  very  plain, 
even  to  oneself.  Still  —  you  can  take  it  that  I've  a 
pretty  strong  grievance  against  all  mortgage  brokers. 
They've  ruined  one  or  two  friends  of  mine,  and  they're 


go          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

going  to  make  trouble  in  this  country.  I'll  give  you  a 
few  instances." 

He  meant  to  frighten  the  lad,  but  there  was  no  need 
to  overstate  the  truth,  and  his  face  grew  stern  as  he 
related  how  struggling  farmers  had  been  squeezed  dry, 
and  broken  in  spirit  and  fortune  by  the  money-lender's 
remorseless  grasp.  Lance  was  duly  impressed,  and 
realized  how  narrow  an  escape  he  had  had. 

"  Are  you  willing  to  leave  the  thing  entirely  to  me?  " 
Harding  concluded.  "You  must  understand  that 
you're  only  changing  your  creditor." 

"  I  can  trust  you,"  Lance  said  with  feeling.  "  I 
can't  tell  you  what  a  relief  it  is  to  get  out  of  that  fel- 
low's hands !  But  I  ought  to  warn  you  that  he's  tricky ; 
you  may  have  some  trouble." 

Harding  laughed  as  he  stood  up. 

"  Oh,  I  can  deal  with  him.  Now  you  go  to  sleep 
and  don't  worry  any  more." 

After  he  left,  Lance  lay  for  a  while  thinking  over  the 
conversation.  He  was  puzzled  to  know  what  had 
prompted  Harding  to  come  to  his  rescue.  The  Allen- 
wood  settlers  had  certainly  been  none  too  friendly  to 
the  prairie  man,  who  was  considered  an  outsider  be- 
cause he  believed  in  work  and  in  progress.  Lance 
thought  that  there  was  no  selfish  motive  in  Harding's 
offer.  What,  then? 

He  suddenly  shook  off  the  thoughts  and,  reaching 
out  to  a  table  by  his  bedside,  rang  a  small  handbell 
there.  Beatrice  answered  it. 

"  I  want  something  to  eat,"  he  said  petulantly. 
"  Not  slops  this  time;  I'm  tired  of  them." 

His  sister  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  Why,  you  wouldn't  touch  your  lunch !  " 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ESCAPE  91 

"  All  the  more  reason  I  should  want  something  now. 
You  ought  to  be  glad  I'm  getting  better !  " 

Beatrice  laughed. 

"  It's  a  very  sudden  improvement,"  she  said.  "  Mr. 
Harding  must  be  a  magician.  What  has  he  done  to 
you?" 

"  Harding  knows  a  lot,"  Lance  answered  somewhat 
awkwardly ;  then  added  impulsively :  "  In  fact,  I 
think  he's  a  remarkably  fine  fellow  all  round." 

Beatrice  opened  her  eyes  wide.  Such  an  opinion 
from  the  son  of  Colonel  Mowbray  was  pure  heresy; 
but  she  made  no  comment.  She  kissed  Lance  lightly 
on  the  forehead  and  tripped  off  downstairs  to  order* 
some  food  for  him. 

Somehow,  she  was  inclined  to  agree  with  her  brother 
in  his  opinion  of  the  prairie  man. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A    MAN    OF    AFFAIRS 

THE  warmth  of  the  big  stove,  which  glowed  a  dull 
red  in  places,  had  melted  holes  in  the  frost  that 
obscured  the  double  windows  of  Davies'  office,  but  icy 
draughts  flowed  round  the  room,  and  the  temperature 
of  the  passage  outside  was  down  to  zero.  From  where 
the  stove-pipe  pierced  the  wall,  drops  of  a  black  dis- 
tillate trickled  down,  and  the  office  was  filled  with  the 
smell  of  tar  and  hot  iron.  Rents  gaped  in  the  pine 
paneling,  and  the  door  had  shrunk  to  a  remarkably 
easy  fit.  The  building  was  new,  pretentious,  and  sup- 
posed to  be  centrally  heated,  but  Winnipeg  was  then 
passing  through  the  transition  stage  which  occurs  in 
the  history  of  most  Western  towns:  emerging  from 
rude  disorder  with  bold  but  badly  guided  striving  to- 
ward beauty  and  symmetry.  Civic  ambition  was 
poorly  seconded  by  builder's  skill,  and  the  plans  of  as- 
piring architects  were  crudely  materialized. 

From  where  Davies  sat  he  could  look  into  the  snowy 
street ;  the  view  was  far  from  pleasing.  The  blackened 
wreck  of  a  burnt-out  store  confronted  the  office  block, 
and  behind  it  straggled  a  row  of  squalid  shacks.  Far- 
ther on  rose  a  wall  of  concrete  with  rusty  iron  framing 
sticking  out  of  it ;  and  a  mound  of  cut  stone  and  sawed 
lumber,  left  as  it  lay  when  the  frost  stopped  work,  en- 
croached upon  the  plank  sidewalk.  Davies,  however, 
was  not  engrossed  in  the  view,  though  he  had  lent 

92 


A  MAN  OF  AFFAIRS  93 

money  upon  some  adjacent  building  lots.  A  survey 
map  of  the  Allenwood  district  lay  on  his  table,  and  he 
alternately  studied  it  and  gazed  out  of  the  window  with 
a  thoughtful  air. 

The  Allenwood  soil  was  good,  consisting,  as  it  did 
for  the  most  part,  of  stiff  black  gumbo ;  it  was  well  wa- 
tered and  fairly  well  wooded ;  and  it  occupied  the  center 
of  a  fertile  belt.  Its  position  had  other  natural  advan- 
tages, and  the  configuration  of  the  country  made  it 
probable  that  with  the  first  railroad  extension  a  line 
would  run  past  the  settlement  to  the  American  frontier. 
Davies  had  reason  to  believe  that  his  view  was  shared 
by  far-seeing  railroad  directors ;  but,  whether  the  line 
were  run  or  not,  the  Allenwood  farms  would  rise  in 
value.  Davies  wanted  a  hold  on  the  settlement;  and 
he  had,  to  some  extent,  succeeded  in  getting  it.  He 
held  a  mortgage  on  Gerald  Mowbray's  homestead;  it 
seemed  possible  to  get  the  younger  brother  into  his 
power;  and  he  was  negotiating  with  another  embar- 
rassed settler.  On  the  other  hand,  money  was  tight 
just  then,  and  Davies'  schemes  were  hampered  by  a 
lack  of  capital.  He  had  written  to  Lance  Mowbray, 
pressing  for  some  interest  that  was  overdue,  and  when 
the  lad  begged  for  time  had  curtly  summoned  him  to 
Winnipeg.  Now  he  was  expecting  him,  for  the  east- 
bound  train  had  arrived. 

He  heard  steps  in  the  passage  and  looked  up  with 
some  surprise  as  two  men  entered  his  office.  Their 
bronzed  faces  and  their  cheap  skin  coats  suggested  that 
they  worked  upon  the  land,  but  there  was  something 
in  the  expression  and  bearing  of  the  taller  man  that 
contradicted  this.  Davies  was  a  judge  of  character, 
and  he  read  that  something  as  a  sense  of  power. 


94          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  Good-morning,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  with  a  suave 
smile.  "  I  don't  believe  I  have  an  appointment  with 
you,  but  I'm  always  open  for  business." 

"  My  name  is  Harding,"  said  the  taller  man ;  "  and 
this  is  my  partner,  Mr.  Devine.  You  were  expecting 
Lance  Mowbray,  of  Allenwood;  I've  come  instead." 

Davies  would  have  preferred  dealing  with  young 
Mowbray  himself ;  this  substitute  made  him  feel  some- 
what uneasy.  After  careful  inquiries  into  Mowbray's 
affairs,  Davies  did  not  expect  to  get  the  overdue  inter- 
est. What  he  wanted  was  to  renew  the  loan  at  a  higher 
rate  as  the  price  of  waiting. 

Harding  got  down  to  business  at  once. 

"  Mowbray  owes  you  some  interest ;  I've  come  to  pay 
it" 

Davies'  eyes  narrowed. 

"  Rather  a  long  and  expensive  journey,  if  that  was 
all  that  brought  you,"  he  said  with  a  sneer.  "  A  check 
would  have  done." 

;'  You  seemed  to  think  an  interview  needful;  and  I 
don't  propose  to  bear  the  cost,"  Harding  answered 
quietly.  "  Anyway,  now  that  I'm  here  I'll  pay  up  the 
principal,  if  we  can  come  to  terms." 

"  There  are  no  terms  to  be  arranged.  I'll  settle  the 
account  on  receipt  of  the  sum  Mowbray  borrowed  and 
the  interest." 

"  I'll  give  you  what  he  got,"  said  Harding  coolly. 

Davies  pondered  a  moment.  The  offer  had  been  a 
shock  to  him,  for  it  suggested  that  Mowbray  had  found 
a  way  of  escape.  That  meant  that  his  hold  on  Allen- 
wood  would  be  weakened.  Harding  looked  shrewd 
and  businesslike;  there  was  little  possibility  of  hood- 
winking such  a  man. 


A  MAN  OF  AFFAIRS  95 

"  Do  you  expect  me  to  abandon  my  rights  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  I'm  here  to  look  after  Mowbray's.  You  charged 
him  what  you  call  expenses,  which  you  didn't  incur. 
Guess  you'll  have  to  prove  them  if  you  take  the  case  to 
court." 

"  One  has  to  make  inquiries  about  the  security  when 
lending  money." 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  you  knew  the  security  was 
bad.  Mowbray  told  you  that  his  land  was  held  in  trust 
until  he  was  twenty-one.  What  you  traded  on  was 
his  fear  of  the  deal  coming  to  his  people's  knowledge. 
I  guess  his  brother  gave  you  all  the  information  you  re- 
quired." 

Davies'  start  indicated  that  the  shot,  made  at  a  ven- 
ture, had  reached  its  mark.  He  grew  angry,  but  he 
quickly  saw  that  this  was  no  time  to  lose  his  temper. 

"  It's  a  pretty  cool  proposition  you  make,"  he  said. 

"  It's  fair,  and  I  don't  press  you  to  agree.  Stick  to 
your  full  claim,  if  you  like,  and  you'll  get  your  interest 
on  what  you  actually  lent,  but  on  nothing  more  until 
payment  o-f  the  principal  is  due.  Then  we'll  give  you 
all  the  trouble  we  can.  But  your  hold  on  the  boy  is 
gone  now  that  you  know  the  money's  ready." 

Davies  was  forced  to  recognize  that  his  debtor  had 
escaped  him;  and,  as  it  happened,  he  was  pressed  for 
money. 

"  Well,"  he  conceded,  "  it's  a  small  matter,  after  all. 
I'll  give  you  a  receipt  if  you'll  put  down  the  amount." 

"  I'd  rather  my  bank  paid  this ;  it  keeps  a  record. 
Then  I  want  Mowbray's  note  as  well  as  the  receipt." 

Harding  handed  him  a  check,  and  Davies  looked  at 
it  in  surprise. 


96          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  You  have  made  another  deduction !  " 

"  Certainly.  You  demanded  an  interview,  and  I've 
knocked  off  my  fare  to  Winnipeg.  Now  where's  the 
note?" 

Davies  produced  it,  and  then  looked  at  him  with  an 
ironical  grin. 

"  It's  all  straight,  and  I  hope  you're  satisfied.  A 
farmer,  aren't  you  ?  May  I  suggest  that  you  have  mis- 
taken your  profession?" 

Harding  laughed  good-naturedly  as  he  pocketed  the 
papers. 

"  I  don't  know.  My  belief  is  that  a  farmer  doesn't 
lose  anything  by  studying  business  methods." 

When  they  reached  the  street,  Harding  turned  to 
Devine. 

"  I've  learned  something  I  wanted  to  know,"  he  said. 
"  That  fellow  has  a  mortgage  on  Gerald  Mowbray's 
land.  He's  playing  a  deep  game." 

"  I  don't  see  what  he's  getting  after." 

"  Allenwood.     It's  worth  plotting  for." 

"  I  guess  he'd  find  the  Colonel  a  pretty  big  obstacle. 
Anyway,  it's  not  our  business." 

"  No,"  Harding  replied  with  a  thoughtful  air.  "  As 
far  as  I  can  see  at  present,  it's  not  my  business.  .  .  . 
Now  we'll  look  up  the  steam-plow  man." 

They  found  the  implement  dealer  disengaged,  and 
spent  the  afternoon  in  his  store  before  Harding,  who 
insisted  upon  several  variations  in  the  standard  design, 
finally  ordered  a  steam  gang-plow.  The  agent  was 
struck  by  the  aptness  of  many  of  Harding's  suggestions 
about  improvements,  and  he  invited  the  men  to  his 
hotel  for  the  evening.  When  they  parted  he  frankly 
admitted  that  he  had  picked  up  some  useful  hints.  He 


A  MAN  OF  AFFAIRS  97 

also  surmised  that  Harding  had  learned  all  that  was 
worth  knowing  about  new  machines. 

The  two  men  left  Winnipeg  the  next  day,  and  De- 
vine  went  to  report  to  Hester  while  Harding  stopped  at 
the  Grange  to  see  Lance. 

The  boy  greeted  him  eagerly,  and  his  eyes  glistened 
with  relief  when  Harding  handed  him  the  papers. 

"  I'll  square  it  off,  every  dollar,  as  soon  as  I  can," 
he  said.  "  In  fact,  I  feel  so  much  about  it  that  I  can't 
express  myself  —  if  you'd  been  in  my  place,  you  would 
understand.  I  see  he  didn't  claim  all  my  note  called 
for.  How  did  you  beat  him  down?  " 

"  I  knew  the  man  I  had  to  deal  with,"  Harding 
smiled.  "  What  you  have  to  do  is  to  keep  clear  of  debt 
in  future." 

"  I've  given  you  my  word ;  but  I  can't  get  out  of  debt 

to  you."     Lance  looked  at  him  with  frank  admiration. 

'  You  beat  the  fellow  at  his  own  game!  "  he  exclaimed. 

Harding  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  he  said ;  "  I  promised  to  meet 
Kenwyne  and  Broadwood.  We'll  settle  how  you're  to 
pay  me  the  next  time  I  come." 

Mrs.  Mowbray  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  hall  be- 
low. 

"  I  want  to  thank  you,"  she  said  to  him.  "  I  don't 
know  what  you  have  done  to  my  boy,  but  he  is  so  very 
much  better." 

Harding  met  the  gaze  she  quietly  fixed  on  him.  He 
saw  that  she  knew  there  was  some  secret  between  him 
and  her  son,  but  had  confidence  enough  to  ask  no  ques- 
tions. 

"  For  one  thing,"  he  answered  lightly,  "  I've  given 
him  some  good  advice,  which  I  think  he'll  act  on." 


98          HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"He  seems  to  have  a  respect  for  your  judg- 
ment —  and  I  feel  he's  not  mistaken." 

"  That's  very  kind,"  said  Harding.  "  I  hope  I  shall 
be  able  to  keep  your  good  opinion ;  though  you  may  find 
it  shaken  by  and  by." 

Mrs.  Mowbray  looked  at  him  keenly,  and  then  laid 
her  hand  gently  on  his  arm. 

"  You  have  helped  my  boy  to  get  better  and,  what- 
ever may  happen,  that  goes  a  long  way,"  she  said. 

When  Harding  left  her  he  felt  that  in  Mrs.  Mow- 
bray  he  would  have  a  staunch  ally  in  his  fight  for  Bea- 
trice. 

He  returned  to  the  Grange  one  afternoon  about  a 
week  later,  and  found  Beatrice  alone.  Lance,  after 
his  long  confinement,  had  gone  for  his  first  drive,  and 
his  mother  had  accompanied  him  to  see  that  he  kept 
the  robes  properly  wrapped  about  him..  The  Colonel 
and  Gerald  were  at  a  neighbor's. 

Beatrice  gave  him  her  hand  cordially. 

"  I  am  glad  of  this  opportunity  for  seeing  you  alone, 
because  there's  something  I  want  to  ask  of  you,"  she 
said. 

"  I  shall  do  anything  I  can  to  please  you." 

"  It's  really  something  I  want  you  not  to  do." 

"  Ah !  "     Harding  smiled.     "  That's  often  harder." 

They  had  entered  a  room  which  Beatrice  and  her 
mother  used.  It  was  not  large,  and  it.  was  scantily 
furnished,  but  most  of  the  articles  it  contained,  though 
worn  and  battered,  were  good.  Curtains,  rugs,  and 
chairs  were  of  artistic  design,  and  their  faded  color- 
ing was  harmonious.  By  contrast  with  the  rude 
prairie  homesteads  he  had  lived  in,  all  that  Harding 


A  MAN  OF  AFFAIRS  99 

saw  struck  a  note  of  luxurious  refinement.  What  was 
more,  the  room  seemed  somehow  stamped  with  its  occu- 
pants' character.  Colonel  Mowbray,  he  knew,  seldom 
entered  it;  it  was  the  retreat  of  the  two  delicate,  high- 
bred women  he  admired.  He  felt  it  was  a  privilege  to 
be  there.  The  unusual  surroundings  reacted  upon  him, 
and  emphasized  in  a  curious  way  his  companion's  grace 
and  charm. 

For  a  few  moments  after  they  were  seated,  Beatrice 
was  silent,  gazing  thoughtfully  before  her.  Her  hair 
shone  where  the  light  touched  it,  and  reminded  Hard- 
ing of  the  glitter  of  a  prairie  lake  on  a  breezy,  sunny 
day;  her  face  was  in  profile,  its  fine  chiseling  forced 
up  by  a  faded  purple  curtain  behind  her,  which  harmo- 
nized agreeably  with  the  straw-colored  dress  that  fell 
about  her  figure  in  graceful  lines.  As  it  happened, 
Beatrice  was  feeling  somewhat  embarrassed.  She  had 
a  favor  to  ask,  and  she  shrank  with  unusual  timidity 
from  placing  herself  in  the  man's  debt.  She  believed 
that  he  had  saved  her  brother's  life  and  afterward 
rendered  him  some  valuable  service;  but  he  had  done 
this  of  his  own  accord,  and  it  would  be  different  were 
he  to  comply  with  her  request. 

"  You  have  been  urging  some  plans  on  Kenwyne  and 
Broadwood,"  she  began. 

"  You  have  heard  about  that !  However,  they  didn't 
need  urging;  they  agreed  with  me  about  the  necessity 
for  the  thing." 

"  It's  possible."  There  was  a  touch  of  haughtiness 
in  Beatrice's  tone.  "  Ralph  Kenwyne  has  always  been 
something  of  a  revolutionary;  and  we  know  where 
Broad vvood  gets  his  ideas." 


ioo        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

"  From  his  wife?  You  can't  expect  me  to  condemn 
them.  She  was  brought  up  as  I  was  and  thinks  as  I 
do." 

Beatrice  saw  she  was  not  beginning  well  and  changed 
her  ground. 

"  After  all,  that's  not  an  important  point.  I  sup- 
pose you  know  my  father  is  bitterly  opposed  to  your 
plans?" 

"  I  was  afraid  so.     It's  unfortunate." 

"  Then  can't  you  see  that  it  would  be  better  to  give 
them  up?  " 

Harding  felt  disturbed  but  determined.  He  was 
keenly  anxious  to  please  the  girl,  but  to  yield  in  this 
matter  would  be  to  act  against  his  principles.  She 
did  not  know  what  she  was  asking. 

"  No,"  he  said;  "  I  can't  see  that." 

"  Do  you  consider  it  good  taste  to  encourage  our 
friends  to  thwart  their  acknowledged  leader  ?  " 

"  It  looks  bad,  as  you  put  it,"  Harding  replied. 
"  For  all  that,  a  leader's  business  is  to  lead.  He  can't 
keep  his  followers  standing  still  when  they  want  to 
move  on.  Their  wishes  must  be  respected.  Despotic 
authority's  out  of  date." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  choosing  a  ruler  if  he  isn't  to  be 
obeyed?"  she  said  haughtily. 

"  It  sounds  logical,"  Harding  replied ;  "  but  it  doesn't 
always  work." 

Beatrice  was  struggling  hard  with  her  wounded 
pride.  Although  on  the  whole  broadminded,  she  had 
inherited  some  of  the  convictions  of  her  caste ;  and,  be- 
ing the  only  daughter  of  the  head  of  the  settlement, 
she  had  been  treated  with  more  deference  by  the  men 
at  Allenwood  than  was  perhaps  good  for  her.  It  had 


A  MAN  OF  AFFAIRS  101 

cost  her  an  effort  to  ask  a  favor  from  Harding,  but  she 
had  not  doubted  the  result,  and  his  refusal  was  a  shock. 
That  the  man  who  now  proved  obdurate  had  boldly 
shown  his  admiration  for  her,  made  it  worse.  Yet,  be- 
cause she  believed  her  cause  was  good,  she  determined 
to  disregard  her  injured  feelings. 

"  If  you  persist  in  your  plans,  it  will  hurt  Colonel 
Mowbray,  and  lead  to  dissention  here,"  she  argued. 
"  Why  must  you  try  to  bring  in  these  changes  ?  We 
have  done  very  well  as  we  are." 

He  rose  and  stood  with  his  hand  on  a  chair-back, 
looking  steadily  at  her;  and  she  noticed  with  half- 
grudging  approval  the  strength  of  his  figure  and  the 
resolution  in  his  quiet,  brown  face. 

"  The  trouble  is  that  you  can't  continue  as  you  are. 
Allenwood's  threatened  from  outside,  and  I'm  not  sure 
it's  safe  within." 

"  Is  that  your  business  ?  " 

The  cold  pride  in  her  tone  hurt,  for  it  implied  that 
she  regarded  him  as  an  intruding  stranger. 

"  In  a  way,  yes;  but  we'll  let  that  drop.  If  I  could 
have  pleased  you  by  giving  up  a  personal  advantage,  I'd 
have  gladly  done  so ;  but  this  is  a  bigger  thing.  It  isn't 
a  matter  of  being  content  with  a  smaller  crop ;  it's  let- 
ting land  that  was  meant  to  be  worked  lie  idle,  wasting 
useful  effort,  and  trying  to  hold  up  a  state  of  things 
that  can't  last.  If  I  give  way,  I'll  be  going  back  on  all 
I  believe  in  and  betraying  a  trust." 

Beatrice  laughed  scornfully ;  and  saw  him  wince. 

"  I  want  you  to  understand  what's  behind  this  move- 
ment," he  continued  gravely.  "  Your  people  can't 
keep  Allen  wood  for  a  place  of  amusement  much  longer, 
and  some  of  those  who  see  this  have  asked  my  help. 


102        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

I've  promised  and  I  can't  draw  back.  Besides,  to  break 
new  soil  and  raise  good  wheat  where  only  the  wild 
grasses  grow  is  the  work  I  was  meant  for ;  the  one  thing 
worth  while  I'm  able  to  do.  I'd  feel  mean  and 
ashamed  if  I  held  off  and  let  the  waste  go  on." 

"Of  course,  it  would  be  too  great  a  sacrifice  to  make 
for  a  prejudiced  old  man,  who  has  nevertheless  always 
placed  the  good  of  Allenwood  first,  and  an  inexperi- 
enced, sentimental  girl !  " 

Harding  flushed  at  the  taunt.  It  was  very  hard  to 
displease  her,  but  he  would  not  be  justified  in  giving 
way,  and  he  thought  that  later,  when  she  understood 
better,  she  would  not  blame  him  for  being  firm. 
Moreover,  his  temper  was  getting  short. 

"  That's  neither  kind  nor  fair,"  he  said.  "  Sepa- 
rate or  together,  your  people  and  I  must  move  on.  We 
can't  stand  still,  blocking  the  way,  and  defying  Nature 
and  the  ordered  procession  of  things.  This  land  was 
made  for  the  use  of  man,  and  he  must  pay  with  hard 
work  for  all  it  gives  him." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  take  that  view ;  but  there  seems 
nothing  further  to  be  said."  She  rose  as  she  spoke. 
"  I'm  afraid  it's  impossible  that  we  should  agree." 

He  left  at  once,  and  drove  home  in  a  downcast  mood. 
No  doubt,  he  had  disappointed  her  badly.  He  had  not 
even  had  the  tact  to  make  his  refusal  graceful ;  she  must 
think  him  an  iconoclastic  boor,  driven  by  a  rude  hatred 
of  all  that  she  respected.  Still,  he  had  tried  to  be 
honest ;  he  could  not  shirk  the  task  he  was  clearly  meant 
to  do.  The  struggle,  however,  had  tried  him  hard, 
and  he  drove  with  set  lips  and  knitted  brows  across  the 
great  white  waste,  oblivious  of  the  biting  cold. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    CASTING    VOTE 

IT  was  a  bitter  evening.  The  snow  on  the  crests  of 
the  rises  glittered  like  steel;  the  hollows  were 
sharply  picked  out  in  blue.  The  frost  was  pitiless,  and 
a  strong  breeze  whipped  up  clouds  of  dry  snow  and 
drove  them  in  swirls  across  the  plain.  A  half  moon, 
harshly  bright,  hung  low  above  the  western  horizon, 
and  the  vast  stretch  of  sky  that  domed  in  the  prairie 
was  sprinkled  with  stars. 

Harding  and  Devine  were  on  their  way  to  attend  a 
council  meeting  at  the  Grange,  Wrapped,  as  they 
were,  in  the  thick  driving-robe,  with  their  fur  caps 
pulled  well  down,  they  could  not  keep  warm.  The 
cold  of  the  icy  haze  seemed  to  sear  the  skin.  Harding's 
woolen-mittened  hand  was  numbed  on  the  reins,  and  he 
feared  that  it  was  getting  frostbitten. 

"  It's  fierce  to-night,"  Devine  remarked.  "  Do  you 
think  there'll  be  a  good  turn-out  of  the  Allen  wood 
boys?" 

"  The  cold  won't  stop  them.  I  expect  the  Colonel 
has  sent  round  to  whip  them  up." 

"  I  guess  you're  right.  Do  you  know,  now  that  I've 
met  one  or  two  of  them  I  see  something  in  you  and 
Hester  that's  in  them.  Can't  tell  you  what  it  is,  but 
it's  there,  and  it  was  plainer  in  your  father.  What  are 
they  like  when  you  get  to  know  them  ?  " 

103 


104        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  Much  the  same  as  the  rest  of  us." 

"  The  rest  of  us!  Then  you  don't  claim  to  be  dif- 
ferent from  the  general  prairie  crowd  ?  " 

Harding  frowned. 

"  I  suppose  I  wouldn't  mind  being  thought  the  best 
farmer  in  the  district,"  he  said;  "  but  that's  all  the  dis- 
tinction I  care  about." 

"  You'll  get  that  easy  enough.  You've  gone  ahead 
fast,  Craig,  and  you're  going  farther ;  but  you  may  have 
some  trouble  on  the  way.  When  a  man  breaks  a  new 
trail  for  himself  and  leaves  other  men  behind,  it  doesn't 
make  them  fond  of  him." 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  delusions  on  that  point.  To  attain 
success,  one  cannot  hope  to  travel  a  balmy  road." 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  rope  in  the  Allenwood  boys  ?  " 
Devine  asked  curiously. 

"  The  reason's  plain.  You  and  I  might  make  the 
steam-plow  pay,  but  the  price  is  high,  and  we  can't  do 
much  more  alone.  If  you  want  the  best  economy  in 
farming,  you  must  have  cooperation.  It's  easier  to  buy 
expensive  tools  if  you  divide  the  cost." 

"  I  see  that.  But  have  you  no  other  reason?  You 
don't  feel  that  you'd  like  to  make  friends  with  these 
people  and,  so  to  speak,  have  them  acknowledge  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Harding  firmly.  Since  his  talk  with 
Beatrice  he  had  felt  a  curious  antagonism  to  the  whole 
Allenwood  settlement. 

It  was  too  cold  to  talk  much,  and  the  men  drove  on 
in  silence  until  the  lights  of  the  Grange  twinkled  out 
across  the  plain.  Ten  minutes  later  they  entered  the 
big  hall,  and  Harding  cast  a  quick  glance  about.  He 
noticed  the  clusters  of  wheat-ears  and  the  big  moose- 
heads  on  the  wall,  the  curious  Eastern  weapons  and  the 


THE  CASTING  VOTE  105 

English  sporting  guns  that  glistened  beneath  them,  and 
the  fine  timbering  of  the  pointed  roof.  He  did  not 
think  there  was  another  homestead  to  compare  with  this 
between  Winnipeg  and  the  valleys  of  British  Columbia ; 
but  it  was  the  company  that  seized  his  attention.  It 
looked  as  if  every  man  in  the  settlement  were  present; 
and  they  were  worth  the  glance  he  gave  them.  Dressed 
with  picturesque  freedom,  they  were,  for  the  most  part, 
handsome  men,  with  powerful  frames  and  pleasant, 
brown  faces.  Harding  knew  they  had  courage  and 
intelligence,  yet  he  felt  that  there  was  something  lack- 
ing —  something  hard  to  define.  He  thought  of  them 
as  without  the  striving  spirit ;  as  too  content. 

One  or  two  gave  him  a  welcoming  smile,  and  there 
was  a  slight  general  movement  when  he  sat  down. 
Mowbray,  however,  looked  up  with  some  surprise  from 
the  head  of  the  long  table. 

"  After  certain  favors  Mr.  Harding  has  done  me,  it 
would  be  singularly  inappropriate  if  I  questioned  his 
coming  here  as  my  guest.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
presence  of  any  outside  person  at  our  council  is  irregu- 
lar." 

"  May  I  explain?  "  Kenwyne  said.  "  Mr.  Harding 
and  his  partner  came  by  my  invitation  to  give  us  some 
information  about  matters  of  which  he  knows  more 
than  any  one  else.  They  will,  of  course,  take  no  other 
part  in  the  proceedings." 

Mowbray  bowed.  "  I  am  satisfied.  Mr.  Harding 
will  understand  that  a  president  must  show  due  regard 
to  form." 

His  manner  was  courteous,  yet  Harding  was  con- 
scious of  a  subtle  antagonism  between  them.  To  some 
extent,  it  was  personal,  but  its  roots  struck  deeper;  it 


io6        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

was  the  inevitable  hostility  between  the  old  school  and 
the  new.  Mowbray  was  a  worthy  representative  of  the 
former.  Fastidiously  neat  in  his  dress,  though  his 
clothes  were  by  no  means  of  the  latest  cut,  and  sitting 
very  upright,  he  had  an  air  of  dignity  and  command. 
He  might  be  prejudiced,  but  it  was  obvious  that  he  was 
neither  dull  nor  weak. 

"  We  have,"  he  said,  taking  up  a  paper,  "  a  motion 
of  some  importance  before  us.  It  is  proposed  that  we 
consider  the  advisability  of  cooperating  with  Messrs. 
Harding  and  Devine :  first,  in  the  purchase  and  use  of 
a  steam-plow;  second,  in  the  organization  of  a  joint 
creamery ;  and,  third,  in  opening  a  sales  office  in  Winni- 
peg or  other  convenient  center  for  the  disposal  of  stock 
and  general  produce." 

Putting  down  the  paper  he  looked  round  with  an 
ironical  smile. 

"  You  will  observe  that  the  scheme  is  by  no  means 
modest ;  indeed,  it  strikes  me  as  the  most  revolutionary 
project  that  has  ever  been  suggested  in  this  place.  It 
is  nevertheless  my  duty  to  ask  those  responsible  for  it 
to  say  what  they  can  in  its  favor." 

Kenwyne  rose  with  a  composed  expression. 

"  Briefly,  the  advantages  are  these.  With  mechani- 
cal power  we  can  plow  more  land  than  at  present  and 
at  a  reduced  cost." 

"  That  is  far  from  certain,"  Mowbray  declared. 
"  We  cannot  take  it  for  granted.  These  machines  go 
wrong." 

"  With  your  permission,  I  will  ask  Mr.  Harding  to 
give  us  some  figures  later.  ,We  are  missing  opportuni- 
ties by  being  content  with  rearing  only  a  limited  number 
of  beef  cattle.  Winnipeg  and  Brandon  are  growing 


THE  CASTING  VOTE  107 

fast;  new  towns  are  springing  up  along  the  railroad, 
and  there  will  soon  be  a  demand  for  dairy  produce  that 
will  counterbalance  the  rather  frequent  loss  of  a  wheat 
crop." 

"  It  will  mean  more  paid  hands  and  working  all  the 
land,"  some  one  objected. 

"  Exactly.  I  may  add  that  this  is  our  aim.  The 
land  must  be  developed." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  disapproval,  but  Kenwyne 
went  on. 

"  Then  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  we  seldom  ob- 
tain the  prices  we  ought  to  get.  Stockbuyers'  profits 
and  salesmen's  charges  are  high,  and  we  can't  expect 
these  gentry  to  look  after  our  interests.  We  could  best 
secure  these  by  setting  up  an  agency  of  our  own,  and 
hiring  trained  assistance.  I'm  afraid  we  cannot  claim 
to  be  successful  business  men." 

"If  that  claim  is  ever  justified,  you  will  have  to 
choose  another  leader,"  Mowbray  remarked.  "  This 
settlement  was  not  founded  with  the  object  of  making 
money.  Now,  Broadwood !  " 

Broadwood  rose  with  a  smile. 

"  We  must  all  agree,  sir,  that  there's  not  much  dan- 
ger of  the  object  you  mention  being  realized.  No 
doubt,  there  are  some  to  whom  this  doesn't  matter,  but 
the  rest  are  confronted  with  the  necessity  for  making 
a  living,  and  I  suspect  that  one  or  two  have  the  trouble 
I've  experienced  in  paying  my  storekeepers'  bills." 

"  Don't  be  personal !  "  some  one  called  out. 

"  That  strikes  me  as  foolish,"  Broadwood  retorted. 
"  One  can't  help  being  personal.  We  all  know  one  an- 
other ;  we  use  one  another's  horses  and  borrow  one  an- 
other's cash ;  and  it's  the  necessity  for  doing  the  latter 


io8        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

that  I  wish  to  obviate.  We  all  know  our  neighbors' 
needs,  and  I  want  to  show  you  how  they  can  be  sup- 
plied." 

He  had  struck  the  right  note  with  his  easy  humor; 
but  Harding  saw  that  Mowbray  was  not  pleased. 

"  You  don't  need  much,"  one  cried  amid  laughter. 
"  You  got  a  bumper  harvest,  and  cut  down  your  sub- 
scription to  the  hounds." 

Broadwood  smiled. 

"  I  came  out  of  the  rut  and  worked.  A  rash  experi- 
ment, perhaps,  but  it  didn't  prove  so  harrowing  as  I 
feared;  and  there's  some  satisfaction  in  having  no 
debts.  But  my  point  is  that  you  can't  do  much  without 
proper  implements,  and  I  feel  that  we'll  have  to  get 
them.  The  proposal  I've  the  pleasure  of  seconding, 
shows  you  how." 

He  sat  down,  and  Mowbray  looked  up  with  a  sar- 
castic smile. 

"  Broadwood's  remarks  don't  take  us  much  farther ; 
he  seems  careful  to  avoid  practical  details.  Now  the 
first  thing  I  notice  about  this  scheme  is  that  it  is 
founded  on  combination.  Its  proposers  are  right  in 
assuming  the  necessity  for  this,  if  their  purpose  is  to 
secure  economical  success;  but  such  success  can  be 
bought  at  too  high  a  price.  Carry  the  cooperative  idea 
out  to  its  logical  conclusion,  and  a  man  becomes  a  ma- 
chine. He  must  subordinate  his  private  judgment,  he 
cannot  choose  his  course,  all  his  movements  must  be 
regulated  by  central  control.  Then  you  may  get  ef- 
ficiency, but  you  destroy  character,  independence,  per- 
sonal responsibility,  all  the  finest  attributes  of  human 
nature.  You  may  object  that  I  am  exaggerating;  that 


THE  CASTING  VOTE  109 

nobody  wants  this.  The  danger  is  that  if  you  decide 
to  go  some  distance,  you  may  be  driven  farther  than 
you  think.  Then,  Allenwood  was  founded  to  encour- 
age individual  liberty  —  that  settlers  here  might  live  a 
healthy  life,  free  from  economic  pressure;  on  their  own 
land,  farming  it  like  gentlemen,  and  not  with  bitter 
greed;  enjoying  the  wind  and  sunshine,  finding  healthy 
sport.  We  demand  a  high  standard  of  conduct,  but 
that  is  all.  We  are  bound  to  one  another  by  com- 
munity of  ideals  and  traditions,  and  not  by  the  hope  of 
dividends." 

There  was  an  outbreak  of  applause;  then  Kenwyne 
rose. 

"  The  difficulty  is  that  to  lead  our  own  lives,  regard- 
less of  changing  times  and  in  defiance  of  commercial 
principles,  needs  larger  means  than  most  of  us  possess. 
The  plain  truth  is  that  Allenwood  has  been  living  upon 
its  capital,  drawing  upon  resources  that  cannot  be  re- 
newed, and  we  must  presently  face  the  reckoning. 
Some  of  us  see  this  clearly,  and  I  think  the  rest  are  be- 
ginning to  understand.  If  you  have  no  objections,  sir, 
I  will  ask  Mr.  Harding  to  give  us  some  figures." 

Harding  got  up  and  stood  silent  for  a  moment  or 
two,  conscious  that  all  present  were  watching  him.  He 
felt  that  they  were  keeping  the  ring,  and  that  the  af- 
fair had  developed  into  a  fight  between  himself  and 
Mowbray.  Harding  regretted  this,  because  the  Colo- 
nel's hostility  would  make  the  secret  hope  he  cherished 
very  difficult  to  realize ;  but  he  could  not  act  against  his 
convictions.  He  stood  for  progress  —  blundering 
progress,  perhaps  —  and  Mowbray  for  the  preserva- 
tion -of  obsolete  ways  and  means ;  the  conflict  was  inevi- 


no        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

table.  Harding  might  lose  the  first  round,  but  he  knew 
that  the  result  was  certain.  Vast,  insuperable  forces 
were  arrayed  against  his  antagonist. 

"  To  begin  with,  what  do  you  expect  to  gain  by  per- 
suading us  to  join  you?  "  Mowbray  asked. 

"  A  saving  of  expense  and  the  help  of  the  only  neigh- 
bors I  have  at  present,"  Harding  answered.  "  My 
partner  and  I  are  ready  to  go  on  alone,  but  we  can't 
hope  to  do  much  unassisted." 

Opening  the  papers  he  had  brought,  he  read  out  par- 
ticulars of  the  cost  of  plowing  by  horses  and  by  steam; 
then  statistics  of  American  and  Canadian  grain  produc- 
tion and  the  fluctuations  of  prices. 

"  Where  did  you  get  the  figures  about  the  mechanical 
plowing?"  Mowbray  asked  in  an  ironical  tone. 
"  From  the  makers?  " 

"  In  the  first  place.  I  afterward  checked  them  by 
information  from  farmers  who  have  used  the  ma- 
chines." 

"  Very  wise !  These  implements  are  expensive. 
Can  you  guarantee  that  they  will  work  satisfactorily?  " 

"  That  would  be  rash.  I  expect  a  certain  amount  of 
trouble." 

"  Skilled  mechanics'  wages  are  high.  Do  you 
recommend  our  keeping  a  man  here  in  case  things  go 
wrong?  " 

"  Certainly  not !  If  you  buy  a  steam-plow,  you  must 
learn  to  keep  it  in  order." 

Broadwood,  picturing  the  Colonel  sprawled  under 
an  oily  engine,  battling  with  obstinate  bolts,  laughed 
aloud. 

Mowbray  frowned. 

"  Granting  the  accuracy  of  your  statistics,"  he  said, 


THE  CASTING  VOTE  111 

"  you  seem  to  have  proved  the  economy  of  mechanical 
power,  when  used  on  a  large  scale.  But  we  are  not 
agreed  upon  the  necessity  for  such  a  thing." 

This  was  the  opening  Harding  had  waited  for  and 
he  seized  it  quickly. 

"  At  present  wheat  is  your  mainstay.  How  many 
of  you  will  find  it  profitable  to  grow  at  the  current 
price  ?  " 

"  Not  many,  perhaps,"  Mowbray  admitted ;  and  the 
disturbed  expression  of  others  bore  out  the  statement. 
"  But  is  there  adequate  ground  for  concluding  it  will 
remain  at  an  abnormally  low  price?  " 

"  It  will  not  remain  there.  For  the  next  few  years 
it  will  go  down  steadily." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  disagreement;  and  Mow- 
bray  smiled. 

"  I  presume  you  are  willing  to  justify  this  gloomy 
forecast?"  he  said. 

"  I'll  try,"  answered  Harding.  "  You  have  seen 
what  one  railroad  has  done  for  Western  Canada.  It 
has  opened  up  the  country,  brought  wide  tracts  of  land 
into  cultivation,  and  largely  increased  the  wheat  crop. 
That  increase  will  go  on,  and  you  will  presently  see 
rival  lines  tapping  new  belts  of  fertile  soil." 

"  But  do  you  imply  that  the  grain  output  of  Western 
Canada  can  force  down  prices  ?  "  a  man  asked  with  a 
scornful  laugh.  "  We  have  all  Europe  for  a  market. 
I  imagine  they'll  use  what  we  can  send  them  in  a  few 
big  English  towns." 

It  was  obvious  that  the  question  met  with  approval, 
and  Harding  quietly  searched  the  faces  turned  toward 
him.  He  belonged  by  right  of  birth  to  these  men's 
caste,  but  he  did  not  want  them  to  own  him.  He  asked 


112        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

their  help,  but  he  could  do  without  it,  though  they  could 
not  dispense  with  his.  Their  supineness  irritated  him ; 
they  would  not  see  the  truth  that  was  luminously  clear. 
He  felt  a  strange  compulsion  to  rouse  and  dominate 
them. 

"  The  Canadian  output  will  soon  have  to  be  reckoned 
with,"  he  said.  "  In  the  meantime,  it's  the  effect  of  a 
general  expansion  throughout  the  world  that  I'm  count- 
ing on.  What  has  been  done  in  Canada  is  being  done 
everywhere.  Look  abroad  and  see!  The  American 
middle  West  linked  up  with  new  railroads,  grain  pour- 
ing out  to  New  York  and  Baltimore;  Calif ornian  wheat 
shipments  doubling,  and  the  Walla  country  in  Oregon 
all  one  grain  belt.  They're  tapping  new  soil  in  Argen- 
tina ;  Australia  and  Chile  are  being  exploited  wherever 
they  get  rain ;  and  British  irrigation  works  in  Egypt  and 
India  will  have  their  effect." 

Gerald  Mowbray  spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"  One  feels  tempted  to  inquire  where  Mr.  Harding 
secured  this  mass  of  information  ?  "  he  said,  with  a 
slight  curl  of  his  lips. 

'  You  can  get  a  good  deal  for  a  few  dollars'  sub- 
scription to  New  York  papers,"  Harding  answered 
dryly.  "  When  the  snow's  deep,  men  with  no  amuse- 
ments have  time  to  read.  But  that's  beside  the  ques- 
tion. I  must  now  ask  you  to  consider  the  improvement 
in  transport.  Locomotives  are  doubling  their  size  and 
power ;  you  have  seen  the  new  grain  cars.  The  triple- 
expansion  engine  is  cutting  down  ocean  freight,  mak- 
ing distance  of  no  account.  All  countries  must  com- 
pete in  the  world's  markets  with  the  cheapest  grower. 
To  survive  in  the  struggle  that's  coming,  one  must  use 
efficient  tools." 


THE  CASTING  VOTE  113 

"  And  what  will  happen  after  the  markets  have  been 
flooded?  "  a  man  asked  derisively. 

"  Then,"  said  Harding  gravely,  "  when  the  slack  and 
careless  have  been  killed  off  there  will  be  a  startling 
change.  The  farming  expansion  can't  last;  there's 
not  enough  accessible  virgin  land  to  draw  upon. 
American  shipments  will  fall  off;  the  demands  of  the 
world's  growing  population  will  overtake  the  supply. 
Those  who  live  through  the  fight  will  find  riches  thrust 
upon  them." 

"  We  are  losing  sight  of  the  general  produce  and 
dairy  scheme,"  Mowbray  remarked.  "  Have  you  any- 
thing to  tell  us  on  this  point?  " 

"  Not  much.  Winnipeg  is  growing,  so  is  Brandon, 
and  they'll  provide  good  markets  for  farming  truck; 
but  the  country  that  will  ask  for  most  is  British  Colum- 
bia." 

"  Rather  a  long  way  off !  "  somebody  commented. 

"  Wait  and  see,"  said  Harding.  "  They're  opening 
new  mines  and  sawmills  all  over  the  province ;  Colum- 
bia's aim  is  industrial,  not  agricultural,  and  most  of  the 
land  there  is  rock  and  forest.  They're  cut  off  from 
the  Pacific  States  by  the  tariff,  and  naturally  they'll  turn 
to  us  across  the  Rockies.  I  foresee  our  sending  gen- 
eral produce  west  instead  of  east.  Now,  although  I've 
taken  up  too  much  time,  will  you  give  me  a  minute  to 
read  some  figures  ?  " 

He  paused,  and  with  an  almost  involuntary  burst 
of  applause  they  bade  him  go  on.  The  statistics  he 
gave  were  telling,  clinching  his  arguments,  and  when  he 
sat  down  there  was  a  deep  murmur  of  approval  from 
opponents  as  well  as  friends.  The  breadth  of  his  views 
and  his  far-reaching  knowledge  appealed  to  them.  It 


114        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

was  the  first  time  they  had  heard  anything  like  this  at 
Allenwood. 

After  waiting  a  few  moments  for  silence,  Mowbray 
turned  to  Devine. 

"  Have  you  anything  of  interest  to  tell  us?  " 

"  Well,"  Devine  said  with  simple  earnestness,  "  I 
was  raised  at  a  prairie  homestead.  I  began  to  drive 
horses  soon  after  I  could  walk,  and  ever  since  I've  been 
living  on  the  soil.  That's  how  I  know  that  in  the  long 
run  scratch- farming  will  never  pay.  With  Nature  up 
against  us,  we  can  take  no  chances  when  we  break  new 
land,  for  she's  mighty  hard  to  beat,  with  her  dry 
seasons,  harvest  frost,  blight,  and  blowing  sand. 
We've  got  to  use  the  best  of  everything  man  can  invent 
and,  if  we're  to  stand  for  a  run  of  bad  times,  get  the 
last  cent's  value  for  every  dollar.  Any  machine  that 
won't  give  you  the  top  output  must  be  scrapped :  you 
must  get  your  full  return  for  your  labor.  Slouching 
and  inefficiency  lead  you  straight  into  the  hands  of  the 
mortgage  man." 

When  he  sat  down,  Mowbray  smiled. 

"  Our  visitors  have  certainly  given  us  food  for 
thought,"  the  Colonel  said.  "  I  offer  them  our  thanks, 
and  should  now  be  glad  to  hear  any  fresh  opinions." 

Several  men  spoke;  some  with  warmth  and  some 
with  careless  humor. 

"  As  we  don't  get  much  further,  we  will  take  a  vote," 
Mowbray  suggested.  "  I  will  move  the  resolution  as  it 
stands.  Though  this  has  not  been  our  usual  custom, 
you  are  entitled  to  a  ballot." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Mowbray's  views 
were  known,  and  the  men  shrank  from  wounding  him, 
for  he  did  not  bear  opposition  well.  For  all  that,  with 


THE  CASTING  VOTE  115 

a  fastidious  sense  of  honor,  they  disdained  the  shield  of 
the  secret  vote. 

"  I  think  we  will  stick  to  the  show  of  hands,"  Ken- 
wyne  replied. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mowbray.     "  For  the  motion !  " 

Harding,  glancing  round  the  room,  was  surprised 
and  somewhat  moved  to  notice  that  Lance's  hand 
went  up  among  the  rest.  The  boy  had  voted  against 
his  father.  So  far  as  Harding  could  judge,  half  the 
men  were  in  favor  of  the  scheme. 

"  Against  the  motion !  " 

The  hands  were  raised,  and  Mowbray  counted  them 
with  care. 

"  Equal,  for  and  against,"  he  announced.  "  I  have 
a  casting  vote,  and  I  think  the  importance  of  the  mat- 
ter justifies  my  using  it.  I  declare  the  motion  lost." 

There  was  an  impressive  silence  for  a  few  moments ; 
then  Broadwood  spoke. 

"  Although  we  have  decided  against  going  on  with 
the  scheme,  as  a  body,  I  take  it  there  is  nothing  to  pre- 
vent any  individuals  who  wish  to  do  so  joining  in  Mr. 
Harding's  venture  ?  " 

"  I  must  leave  you  to  decide  how  far  such  action  is 
in  good  taste,  or  likely  to  promote  the  harmony  which 
has  been  the  rule  at  Allenwood.  Now  I  think  we  can 
close  the  meeting." 

When  the  company  dispersed,  Harding,  Devine,  and 
Broadwood  drove  home  with  Kenwyne.  The  Scotch 
housekeeper  opened  the  door  for  them,  and  handed 
Kenwyne  the  mail  which  had  been  brought  in  his  ab- 
sence. He  tore  open  a  newspaper  and  turned  to  the 
quotations. 

"  Wheat  down  sixpence  a  quarter  at  Liverpool,"  he 


ii6        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

said.  "  It  will  have  its  effect  in  Chicago  and  Winni- 
peg." He  dropped  the  paper  and  took  off  his  fur  coat. 
"  I  suppose  you're  going  on  with  the  plan,  Harding?  " 

"  The  plow's  ordered." 

"  You're  a  hustler,"  Broadwood  laughed ;  "  but  you 
mustn't  make  the  pace  too  hot.  We've  been  used  to 
going  steady.  What  did  you  think  of  the  meeting?  " 

"  It  went  better  than  I  expected." 

"  We'd  have  had  a  majority  only  that  they  were 
afraid  of  the  Colonel;  and  I  don't  blame  them.  In  a 
way,  he  made  a  rather  pathetic  figure,  trying  to  sweep 
back  the  tide.  The  old  man  has  courage ;  it's  a  pity  he 
won't  see  that  his  is  a  lost  cause." 

"He  can't,"  said  Kenwyne  gravely;  "and  we  must 
realize  that." 

"  Then  are  you  going  to  let  him  ruin  you?  "  Devine 
asked. 

"  I  hope  not ;  but  we  all  feel  that  we  can't  disown  our 
leader,"  Broadwood  answered.  "  I  dare  say  you  can 
understand  that  we  have  a  hard  row  to  hoe." 

"  Well,  the  creamery  scheme  will  have  to  be 
dropped,"  Kenwyne  said;  "but  there'll  be  plenty  of 
work  for  the  new  plow." 

"  Yes,"  Harding  replied.  "  If  all  the  rest  stand 
out  Devine  and  I  can  keep  it  busy." 

"  How  much  land  do  you  intend  to  break?  " 

Harding  told  him,  and  Kenwyne  looked  astonished. 

'''  You're  a  bold  man.  If  it's  not  an  impertinence, 
can  you  finance  the  thing?  " 

"  It  will  take  every  dollar  I  have." 

"  And  if  you  lose?  The  spring  rains  are  sometimes 
hard  enough  to  uproot  the  young  blades ;  or  a  summer 
hailstorm  or  drought  may  come  and  ruin  the  crop." 


THE  CASTING  VOTE  117 

Harding  shrugged  his  shoulder. 

"  Those  things  must  be  considered,  of  course.  But 
one  never  gets  very  far  by  standing  still  and  waiting 
for  a  disaster  that  may  never  occur.  '  Nothing  ven- 
tured, nothing  gained/  "  he  quoted  with  a  smile. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   STEAM    PLOW 

THE  winter  passed  quickly.  Harding  was  kept 
fully  occupied ;  for  there  was  cordwood  to  be  cut, 
there  were  building  logs  to  be  got  ready,  and  the  fitting 
up  of  the  new  house  kept  him  busy  at  his  carpenter's 
bench.  He  was  used  to  the  prairie  climate,  and  he  set 
off  cheerfully  at  dawn  to  work  in  the  snow  all  day,  re- 
turning at  dark,  half- frozen  and  stiff  from  swinging 
the  heavy  ax.  Now  and  then  he  drove  Hester  to  Mrs. 
Broadwood's,  or  spent  an  evening  with  one  or  two 
others  of  the  Allen  wood  settlers.  He  went  partly  for 
his  sister's  sake,  but  also  because  he  sometimes  met 
Beatrice  at  his  new  friends'  houses,  and  since  Lance  had 
recovered  he  no  longer  had  an  excuse  for  visiting  the 
Grange.  Mrs.  Mowbray  had  always  been  gracious, 
but  he  knew  that  the  Colonel  now  regarded  him  as  a 
dangerous  person. 

Beatrice's  manner  puzzled  him.  As  a  rule,  she  was 
friendly,  yet  he  could  not  flatter  himself  that  he  was 
making  much  progress,  and  sometimes  she  was  dis- 
tinctly aloof.  He  might  have  placed  a  favorable  inter- 
pretation upon  her  reserve,  but  unfortunately  it  was 
tinged  with  what  looked  very  much  like  hostility. 
Harding  imagined  that  she  was  influenced  by  her 
father ;  and  he  was  troubled. 

There  were,  however,  days  when  his  homestead 
118 


THE  STEAM  PLOW  119 

rocked  beneath  the  icy  blast,  while  the  snow  lashed  the 
ship-lap  walls,  and  to  venture  out  involved  serious  risk. 
The  blizzards  were  often  followed  by  bitter  evenings 
when  the  prairie  lay  white  and  silent  in  the  Arctic  frost, 
and  no  furs  would  protect  one  against  the  cold.  At 
such  times,  Harding  sat  quietly  by  the  red-hot  stove, 
sometimes  with  a  notebook  in  his  hand,  and  sometimes 
merely  thinking  hard.  Many  barriers  stood  between 
him  and  the  girl  he  loved,  and,  being  essentially  prac- 
tical, he  considered  how  he  could  remove  the  worst. 
Beatrice  had  been  luxuriously  brought  up,  and  he  must 
have  material  advantages  to  offer  her;  although  if  she 
were  what  he  believed,  she  would  not  attach  undue 
importance  to  them.  He  was  ambitious  and  generally 
ready  to  take  a  risk,  but  now  he  was  staking  his  all  on 
an  abundant  crop.  It  could  not  be  done  rashly.  Ad- 
verse contingencies  must  be  foreseen  and  guarded 
against;  all  the  precautions  that  experience  dictated 
must  be  taken.  He  would  be  ruined  if  he  lost. 

The  days  were  lengthening,  though  the  frost  still 
held,  when  his  steam-plow  arrived  at  the  railroad  settle- 
ment. No  one  seemed  willing  to  undertake  its  trans- 
port to  Allenwood;  and  when  a  thing  was  extremely 
difficult  Harding  believed  in  doing  it  himself.  The 
machine  had  been  dismantled,  but  some  of  the  engine- 
castings  were  massive,  and  the  boiler,  with  its  large, 
wood-burning  firebox  was  of  considerable  weight.  It 
must,  however,  be  moved  at  once,  because  the  frost 
might  break,  and  the  prairie  is  impassable  by  loaded 
vehicles  for  a  few  weeks  after  the  thaw.  As  a  rule, 
the  snowfall  is  light  on  the  Western  plains,  and  jumper- 
sleds  are  not  in  general  use.  In  this  instance  Harding 
found  the  long,  high-wheeled  wagon  suit  his  purpose 


120        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

best,  and  he  carefully  strengthened  one  before  he  set 
off  to  bring  home  the  plow. 

It  was  not  an  easy  task.  The  high  plain  sloped  to 
the  railroad  in  wave-like  undulations,  with  sandy  crests 
and  timber  in  the  hollows.  In  summer,  it  would  hardly 
have  been  possible  to  haul  the  plow  across  this  belt 
of  broken  country,  but  the  few  inches  of  beaten  snow 
on  the  trail  simplified  the  task.  For  all  that,  Harding 
spent  several  days  on  the  road,  moving  the  machine  in 
detachments,  until  he  came  to  the  boiler,  which  must  be 
handled  in  one  piece.  When,  with  the  help  of  several 
train-men,  he  got  it  into  his  wagon,  he  knew  his  troubles 
had  begun. 

Leaving  the  settlement  at  dawn  with  Devine,  they 
camped  at  sunset  by  a  frozen  creek  and  got  a  few  hours' 
sleep  beside  a  fire  until  the  cold  awakened  them.  After 
this,  Harding  lay  thinking  over  the  next  day's  work  un- 
til the  sky  began  to  whiten  in  the  east,  and  it  was  time 
to  get  breakfast. 

They  set  off  in  the  stinging  cold  while  the  crimson 
sunrise  glared  across  the  snow,  but  it  was  afternoon 
and  the  teams  were  worn  out  when  they  approached  the 
ravine  a  few  miles  from  home.  This,  they  knew,  pre- 
sented their  greatest  obstacle.  The  frost  held,  sky  and 
air  were  clear,  and  a  nipping  wind  had  risen.  As  they 
drew  near  the  wavy  line  of  trees  that  marked  the  edge 
of  the  dip,  Harding  was  not  pleased  to  notice  a  group 
of  people.  He  had  arranged  for  two  of  the  Allenwood 
men  to  meet  him  with  some  tackle,  but  he  saw  that 
Hester,  Beatrice,  Mrs.  Broadwood,  and  several  more 
had  accompanied  them.  He  was  not  often  self-con- 
scious, but  when  he  had  anything  difficult  to  do  he  did 
not  like  onlookers.  They  embarrassed  him. 


THE  STEAM  PLOW  121 

For  all  that,  he  felt  a  keen  thrill  of  pleasure  when 
Beatrice,  with  Mrs.  Broadwood,  came  toward  him 
when  he  stopped  his  team  on  the  edge  of  the  hollow. 
The  sides  of  the  ravine  were  clothed  with  leafless  pop- 
lars, and  the  snow  shone  a  soft  gray-blue  in  their 
shadow.  In  places,  the  slope  was  very  steep,  and  the 
trail,  with  several  awkward  bends,  ran  down  diagonally 
to  the  bridge  at  the  bottom,  shut  in  by  rows  of  slender 
trunks  except  where  the  ground  fell  away  on  its  outer 
edge.  A  thin  cloud  of  steam  hung  over  the  jaded 
horses.  Except  for  the  sparkle  in  his  eyes,  Harding 
had  a  very  tired  look  when  Beatrice  stopped  beside  him. 

"  It  will  not  be  easy  getting  down,"  she  said. 

Harding  smiled. 

"  I  suppose  I  deserve  some  trouble  ?  " 

"  I  really  think  you  do,"  Beatrice  answered  with  a 
laugh.  "I  would  have  stopped  you  if  I  could;  but 
now  the  plow's  here,  it's  too  late  to  be  disagreeable 
about  it  —  so  I  don't  wish  you  any  difficulty  in  getting 
down!  " 

"  It's  a  sensible  attitude.  Fight  against  a  thing  you 
don't  like,  but  make  the  best  of  it  when  it's  an  accom- 
plished fact." 

"  I  don't  like  steam-plows  at  Allenwood,"  said  Be- 
atrice with  a  flush  of  color. 

"  Allenwood  is  hifalutin,"  Mrs.  Broadwood  put  in. 
"  They're  trying  to  run  it  on  ideals." 

"  Is  it  necessary  to  separate  ideals  from  practical 
efficiency?  "  Harding  asked. 

"  They  don't  often  go  together,"  Beatrice  answered 
scornfully. 

"  There's  some  truth  in  that.  But  it's  the  fault  of 
human  nature ;  you  can't  blame  the  machines." 


122        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

"  The  machines  are  to  be  admired,"  the  girl  re- 
turned. "  One  blames  the  men  who  use  them  with  the 
wrong  object." 

Harding  smiled ;  but  before  he  could  answer,  Broad- 
wood  came  up  with  Kenwyne  to  announce  that  every- 
thing was  ready. 

"  You'll  have  to  be  careful,"  he  warned  Harding. 
"  We'll  lock  the  back  wheels  before  we  hook  on  the 
tackles.  Will  you  let  the  front  team  loose  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  may  want  them  to  swing  me  round  the  bends. 
First  of  all,  I'll  take  a  look  at  what  you've  done." 

He  walked  down  the  trail  with  them  and  examined 
the  fastenings  of  a  big  iron  block  through  which  ran  a 
wire  rope  with  a  tackle  at  one  end. 

"  The  clevis  is  rather  small,  but  it's  the  strongest  I 
could  find,"  Kenwyne  said. 

A  little  farther  on  they  stopped  where  the  bank  fell 
nearly  perpendicularly  for  some  distance  below  the 
outer  edge  of  the  road. 

"  We  banked  the  snow  up  here  and  beat  it  firm,"  he 
pointed  out.  "  For  all  that,  it  would  be  wise  to  keep 
well  to  the  inside." 

"  We'll  shift  the  tackle  when  I  get  to  the  bend 
above,"  Harding  replied,  and  went  down  to  the  bridge. 
It  was  rudely  built  of  logs  and  had  no  parapet. 

"  I  found  the  turn  awkward  the  last  time,  but  I  see 
you  have  made  it  a  bit  easier,"  he  said.  ",Well,  we'd 
better  make  a  start." 

Lance  and  one  or  two  others  joined  them  when  they 
reached  the  top.  Harding  examined  the  wagon  and 
harness,  and  Beatrice  watched  him  with  interest.  He 
certainly  lived  up  to  his  belief  in  efficiency,  because  she 
did  not  think  he  omitted  any  precaution  he  could  have 


THE  STEAM  PLOW  123 

taken.  There  was  something  to  admire  in  him  as  he 
quietly  moved  about  beside  the  horses  and  the  ponder- 
ous mass  of  iron.  It  would  not  be  an  easy  matter  to 
transport  the  load  to  the  bottom  of  the  gorge,  but 
Beatrice  felt  that  he  was  at  his  best  when  confronting 
a  difficulty. 

"  The  locked  wheels  won't  hold  her  if  anything  goes 
wrong,"  he  said.  "  Keep  all  the  strain  you  can  upon 
the  rope." 

They  hooked  it  to  the  back  axle,  and  Harding  cau- 
tiously led  the  team  down  the  incline  while  Devine 
went  to  the  leading  horses'  heads,  and  the  others 
checked  the  wagon  with  the  tackle.  The  teams  were 
obviously  nervous,  and  the  pole-horses  now  and  then 
lifted  their  haunches  to  hold  back  the  load,  although 
they  did  not  feel  much  of  its  weight.  After  some 
trouble  Harding  got  the  wagon  round  the  first  turning, 
taking  the  leaders  up  the  side  of  the  ravine  in  order  to 
do  so ;  but  the  trail  ahead  was  steeper,  and  the  big  drop 
not  far  below.  They  chocked  the  wheels  with  logs 
while  they  moved  the  tackle,  and  Harding  stood  for  a 
few  moments,  breathing  heavily,  as  he  looked  down 
into  the  gorge.  He  could  see  the  snowy  trail  wind  for 
a  short  distance  among  the  trees,  and  then  it  dipped 
out  of  sight  beyond  a  turn.  It  was  beaten  hard,  and 
here  and  there  its  surface  caught  a  ray  of  light  and 
flashed  with  an  icy  gleam.  They  were  half-way  down ; 
but  the  worst  was  to  come. 

"  It's  an  ugly  bit,"  he  cautioned  Devine.  "  Hold  the 
leaders  in  to  the  side  of  the  hill." 

They  started,  and  as  the  weight  came  upon  them  the 
blocks  screamed,  and  the  men  began  to  strain  against 
the  drag  of  the  rope.  Foot  by  foot  they  let  it  slip 


124        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

round  the  smooth  trunk  of  a  tree,  while  the  women 
stood  watching  the  tall  figure  at  the  pole-horses'  heads. 
The  powerful  animals  braced  themselves  back,  slipping 
a  yard  or  two  now  and  then,  while  Harding  broke  into 
a  run.  The  cloud  of  steam  that  hung  over  them  grew 
thicker  as  the  trees  closed  in;  the  tackle  was  running 
out  and  those  who  held  it  were  panting  hard,  but  they 
had  rope  enough  to  reach  the  next  bend. 

Then  there  was  a  crash  and  Kenwyne,  reeling  back- 
ward with  those  behind  him,  fell  heavily  into  the  snow 
while  the  broken  wire  struck  the  trees.  A  shout  from 
Devine  came  up  the  hollow,  and  Hester  clenched  her 
hand  as  she  saw  him  flung  off  by  a  plunging  horse  and 
roll  down  the  trail.  He  dropped  over  the  edge,  but  the 
wagon,  lurching  violently,  went  on,  and  for  a  few  mo- 
ments Harding,  running  fast,  clung  to  the  near  horse's 
head.  Then  he  let  go;  but  instead  of  jumping  clear, 
as  the  watchers  had  expected,  he  grasped  the  side  of  the 
wagon  as  it  passed  and  swung  himself  up.  They  saw 
him  seize  the  reins,  standing  upright  behind  the  driv- 
ing-seat; and  then  the  wagon  plunged  out  of  sight 
among  the  trees. 

Devine,  scrambling  to  his  feet,  ran  madly  after  it 
and  vanished;  and  the  men  who  had  held  the  tackle 
picked  themselves  up  and  looked  down  in  dismay. 
There  was  nothing  they  could  do.  The  disaster  must 
happen  before  they  could  possibly  reach  the  scene.  It 
seemed  impossible  that  Harding  could  get  round  the 
next  turn. 

Beatrice  cast  a  quick  glance  at  Hester,  and  felt 
braced  by  her  attitude.  They  were  not  emotional  at 
Allenwood;  but  the  prairie  girl  bore  herself  with  a 
stoic  calm  which  Beatrice  had  never  seen  equaled  there. 


THE  STEAM  PLOW  125 

Her  fiance  had  narrowly  escaped  with  his  life,  her 
brother  was  in  imminent  peril,  yet  her  eyes  were  steady 
and  her  pose  was  firm.  His  danger  could  not  be  made 
light  of,  but  the  girl  evidently  had  confidence  in  him. 
Beatrice  imagined  that  Hester  had  her  brother's  swift- 
ness of  action,  nevertheless  she  could  wait  and  suffer 
calmly  when  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done.  After 
all,  stern  courage  was  part  of  the  girl's  birthright,  for 
she  was  a  daughter  of  the  pioneers. 

Beatrice  did  not  know  that  her  own  face  was  tense 
and  white.  The  accident  had  been  unexpected  and  un- 
nerving. She  was  shaken  by  its  suddenness  and  by  a 
dread  she  could  not  explain :  it  was  no  time  for  analysis 
of  feelings.  She  was  watching  the  trail  with  desperate 
concentration,  wondering  whether  the  wagon  and  its 
reckless  driver  would  break  out  from  the  trees.  In  a 
moment  they  did  appear  —  the  team  going  downhill 
at  a  mad  gallop,  Harding  lashing  them  with  a  loop  of 
the  reins.  There  is  not  often  a  brake  on  a  prairie 
wagon,  and  as  the  chain  that  locked  the  wheels  had 
obviously  broken,  Harding's  intention  was  plain.  He 
meant  to  keep  the  horses  ahead  of  the  iron  load  that 
would  overturn  the  wagon  and  mangle  the  animals  if 
it  overtook  them.  This  warranted  his  furious  speed. 
But  the  trail  was  narrow  and  tortuous,  and  with  the 
heavy  weight  spread  over  a  long  wheel-base,  the  wagon 
was  hard  to  steer.  Beatrice  realized  this,  but  in  spite 
of  her  horror  she  felt  a  thrill  of  fierce  approval. 

The  man  was  standing  upright  now;  he  looked 
strangely  unmoved.  Beatrice  supposed  this  was  a  de- 
lusion; but  she  could  see  the  nerve  and  judgment  with 
which  he  guided  the  team.  They  were  passing  the  spot 
where  the  bank  fell  away.  The  wheels  on  one  side 


126        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

were  on  its  edge.  Beatrice  turned  dizzy.  She  felt 
that  they  must  go  over,  and  man  and  horses  and  wagon 
be  crushed  to  pulp  beneath  the  heavy  load.  They 
passed ;  but  there  was  a  turn  not  far  off,  and  room  was 
needed  to  take  the  curve.  As  they  rushed  on,  half 
hidden  by  the  trees,  she  felt  her  breath  come  hard  and 
a  contraction  in  her  throat  as  she  wondered  whether  he 
could  get  round.  If  not,  the  load  of  iron  would  rush 
headlong  over  the  fallen  horses,  leaving  in  its  path  a 
mass  of  mangled  flesh  and  pools  of  blood.  To  her 
excited  imagination,  the  boiler  was  no  longer  a  sense- 
less thing.  It  seemed  filled  with  malevolent,  destruc- 
tive power ;  she  felt  she  hated  it. 

There  was  a  tense  moment ;  then  the  leading  horses 
plunged  from  the  trees  with  the  pole-team  behind  them, 
all  still  on  their  feet.  Harding  had  somehow  steered 
them  round.  But  the  danger  was  not  yet  over,  for  the 
trail  shelved  to  one  side  and  there  was  an  awkward 
curve  near  the  bridge.  The  wagon  seemed  to  Beatrice 
to  be  going  like  the  toboggans  she  had  seen  on  the  long 
slide  at  Montreal.  It  was  more  difficult  to  see  as  it 
got  farther  off  and  the  trees  were  thicker.  Her  eyes 
filled  with  water  from  the  intensity  of  her  gaze,  and 
she  feared  to  waste  a  moment  in  wiping  them.  Some- 
thing terrible  might  happen  before  she  could  see  again. 
She  wanted  to  shriek ;  and  she  might  have  done  so  only 
that,  even  in  such  a  moment,  she  remembered  what  was 
expected  of  the  Mowbray  strain.  Horses  and  wagon 
were  still  rushing  on.  Then  there  was  a  thud  and  a 
harsh  rattle :  Harding  was  on  the  bridge.  Another 
moment  and  the  mad  beat  of  hoofs  slackened  and 
stopped. 

Lance,  waving  his  fur  cap,  broke  into  a  harsh,  tn- 


THE  STEAM  PLOW  127 

umphant  yell,  and  the  rest  of  the  Allenwood  men  set 
up  a  cheer.  In  the  midst  of  it  Devine  appeared,  scram- 
bling up  the  hill  through  the  brush. 

"  He's  done  it !  He's  done  it !  "  he  cried  excitedly, 
running  up  to  Hester.  "  It's  great !  She  was  going 
like  an  express  freight  on  a  downgrade  when  he  jumped 
up." 

Hester  smiled  at  him  proudly,  and  he  turned  and 
started  off  at  top  speed  down  the  trail.  They  all  fol- 
lowed, and,  crossing  the  bridge,  found  Harding  stand- 
ing by  his  blowing  team.  The  horses'  coats  were  foul 
with  sweat,  and  Harding's  face  was  badly  scratched, 
but  he  did  not  seem  to  know  it,  and  except  that  he  was 
breathless  he  looked  much  as  usual. 

"  This  is  quite  ridiculous !  "  Mrs.  Broadwood  panted, 
with  a  keen  glance  at  Beatrice.  "  There's  some  excuse 
for  Hester,  but  I  can't  see  why  you  and  I  should  go 
running  after  a  man  who  doesn't  belong  to  either  of 
us  and  seems  to  feel  a  good  deal  cooler  than  we  do !  " 

Beatrice  flushed,  but  she  did  not  answer. 

"  You  were  lucky  in  getting  down,"  Kenwyne  said 
to  Harding.  "  We  thought  you  were  going  over  the 
bank." 

"  So  did  I,  at  first,"  Harding  answered. 

Broadwood  and  Lance  made  some  remarks  about 
the  accident,  and  Hester  watched  them  with  a  smile. 
There  was  a  hint  of  strain  in  their  voices,  but  their 
manner  was  very  matter-of-fact.  She  surmised  that 
they  wished  to  forget  their  relapse  into  emotional  ex- 
citement. She  contented  herself  with  giving  her 
brother  a  quick,  expressive  look. 

Harding  unhooked  the  broken  wire  from  the  back 
of  the  wagon. 


128        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  we  must  set  about  getting  up." 

The  ascending  trail  had  a  gentler  slope,  and  there 
was  not  much  risk  in  climbing  it;  though  it  cost  them 
heavy  labor.  With  the  help  of  a  yoke  of  oxen,  they 
got  the  wagon  up,  and  when  the  top  was  reached  Ken- 
wyne  came  up  to  Harding. 

"  You  and  Devine  have  done  enough,"  he  said. 
"  There  should  be  no  trouble  now.  We'll  lead  the 
teams  home  while  you  take  it  easy." 

Harding  was  glad  to  comply.  He  followed  with! 
Hester  and  Mrs.  Broadwood,  because  Beatrice  seemed 
so  evidently  trying  to  avoid  him. 

The  girl  felt  disturbed.  When  she  thought  that 
Harding  could  not  escape,  a  curious  sense  of  personal 
loss  had  intensified  her  alarm.  Terror,  of  course,  was 
natural;  the  other  feeling  was  not  to  be  explained  so 
readily.  Although  she  disliked  some  of  his  opinions, 
she  knew  that  he  attracted  her.  His  was  a  magnetic 
nature:  he  exerted  a  strong  influence  over  every  one; 
but  she  would  not  admit  that  she  was  in  love  with  him. 
That  would  be  absurd.  And  yet  she  had  been  deeply 
stirred  by  his  danger. 

Lance  and  Devine  had  lingered  in  the  rear,  and  the 
little  group  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  trail  and  waited 
for  them.  Then,  when  they  moved  forward  again, 
Beatrice  and  Harding  were  somehow  thrown  together, 
and  she  checked  the  impulse  to  overtake  the  others 
when  she  saw  that  she  and  the  prairie  man  were  falling 
behind.  To  avoid  being  alone  with  him  would  exag- 
gerate his  importance. 

:<  You  must  have  known  you  were  doing  a  danger- 
ous thing  when  you  got  up  on  the  wagon,"  she  said. 

"  I  suppose  I  did,"  he  replied.     "  But  I  saw  that  I 


THE  STEAM  PLOW  129 

might  lose  the  boiler  if  it  went  down  the  bank.  The 
thing  cost  a  good  deal  of  money." 

"  You  were  able  to  remember  that?  " 

"  Certainly !  Then  there  were  the  teams.  It  would 
have  been  a  pity  to  let  them  be  killed." 

Beatrice  thought  he  might  have  offered  a  better  ex- 
planation. He  had  implied  that  anxiety  about  the 
boiler  had  influenced  him  more  than  regard  for  his 
horses.  She  felt  that  she  must  give  him  an  opportunity 
for  defending  himself. 

"  I  wonder  which  consideration  counted  most  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  amusement;  and  she  flushed 
as  she  suddenly  recalled  that  he  was  sometimes  very 
shrewd. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  the  main  thing  was  to  get  hold  of 
the  reins  —  and  I  don't  know  that  it  matters  now." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  Beatrice  agreed,  vexed  that  he  did 
not  seem  anxious  to  make  the  best  impression.  "  After 
all,  breaking  land  on  a  large  scale  must  be  expensive, 
and  I  understand  that  your  plans  are  ambitious." 

Harding  glanced  across  the  prairie :  it  ran  back  to 
the  blue  smear  of  trees  on  the  horizon,  covered  with 
thin  snow,  and  struck  a  note  of  utter  desolation. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  with  a  gleam  in  his  eyes.  "  All  this 
looks  lifeless  and  useless  now,  but  I  can  see  it  belted 
with  wheat  and  oats  and  flax  in  the  fall.  There  will 
be  a  difference  when  the  binders  move  through  the 
grain  in  rows." 

"In  rows!" 

"  We'll  want  a  number,  if  all  goes  well.  Devine's 
land  follows  my  boundary,  and  we  must  drive  our 
plows  in  one  straight  line.  We  begin  at  the  rise  yon- 
der and  run  east  to  the  creek." 


130        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

The  boldness  of  the  undertaking  appealed  to  the 
girl  as  she  glanced  across  the  wide  stretch  of  snow. 

"  It's  a  big  thing,"  she  said. 

"  A  beginning.  Two  men  can't  do  much,  but  more 
are  coming.  In  a  year  or  two  the  wheat  will  run  as 
far  as  you  can  see,  and  there'll  be  homesteads  all  along 
the  skyline." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  moment;  then  he 
gave  her  an  amused  glance. 

"  I  guess  Colonel  Mowbray  doesn't  like  what  I'm 
doing?  " 

"  He  doesn't  go  so  far.  It's  to  what  you  are  per- 
suading our  friends  to  do  that  he  objects." 

"  That's  a  pity.  They'll  have  to  follow  —  not  be- 
cause I  lead,  but  because  necessity  drives." 

"  You're  taking  it  for  granted  that  it  does  drive ; 
and  you  must  see  my  father's  point  of  view." 

"  That  I'm  encouraging  your  people  to  rebel  ? 
That's  not  my  wish,  but  he  can't  hold  them  much 
longer  —  the  drift  of  things  is  against  him." 

Beatrice's  eyes  sparkled.  He  thought  she  looked 
very  charming  with  her  proud  air  and  the  color  in  her 
face;  but  he  must  keep  his  head.  He  was  readjusting 
his  opinions  about  sudden,  mutual  love,  and  he  saw 
that  precipitation  might  cost  him  too  much.  If  he 
could  not  have  the  girl  on  his  own  terms,  he  must  take 
her  on  hers. 

"  Colonel  Mowbray  founded  the  settlement/'  Bea- 
trice said,  "  and  it  has  prospered.  Can't  you  under- 
stand his  feelings  when  he  sees  his  control  threat- 
ened?" 

"  The  time  when  one  man  could  hold  full  command 
has  gone.  He  can  be  a  moral  influence  and  keep  the 


THE  STEAM  PLOW  131 

right  spirit  in  his  people,  but  he  must  leave  them  free- 
dom of  action." 

"That  is  just  the  trouble!  It's  the  modern  spirit 
which  you  are  bringing  into  the  settlement  that  dis- 
turbs us.  We  managed  to  get  along  very  well  before 
we  ever  heard  of  Mr.  Harding  and  his  steam-plow  and 
his  wheat-binders  and  his  creameries." 

She  could  not  keep  the  slight  scorn  out  of  her  voice ; 
indeed,  she  did  not  wish  to  do  so.  But  he  took  it  good- 
naturedly. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  see?  "  he  questioned  with  a 
smile.  "  A  time  when  Colonel  Mowbray  —  and  Colo- 
nel Mowbray's  daughter,"  he  added  teasingly  — "  will 
look  with  pride  upon  the  vast  acres  of  Allenwood 
turned  from  waste  grassland  into  productive  fields  of 
wheat  and  oats  and  flax ;  when  the  obsolete  horse-plow 
will  be  scrapped  as  old  iron  and  the  now  despised 
steam-plow  will  be  a  highly  treasured  possession  of 
every  settler;  when " 

"Never!"  Beatrice  interrupted  emphatically. 
"  You  must  understand  that  my  father's  views  and 
yours  are  as  widely  different  as  the  poles  —  and  my 
father  is  the  head  of  Allenwood!  " 

Harding  looked  down  at  the  haughty  face  turned  up 
to  him;  and  a  great  longing  suddenly  surged  through 
him.  He  had  never  desired  her  more  than  at  that  in- 
stant. His  admiration  showed  so  strongly  in  his  eyes 
that  the  blood  swept  into  Beatrice's  face. 

"  Bee !  "  Lance  called  back  to  them.  "  Mrs.  Broad- 
wood  wants  you  to  verify  what  I'm  telling  her  about 
the  collie  pup." 

Beatrice  loved  her  brother  for  the  interruption. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   ENEMY    WITHIN 

IT  was  getting  late,  but  the  Allenwood  Sports  Club 
prolonged  its  sitting  at  the  Carlyon  homestead. 
The  institution  had  done  useful  work  in  promoting 
good  fellowship  by  means  of  healthful  amusements, 
but  recently  its  management  had  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  the  younger  men,  and  the  founders  contented  them- 
selves with  an  occasional  visit  to  see  that  all  was  going 
well.  Some,  however,  were  not  quite  satisfied,  and 
Mowbray  entertained  suspicions  about  the  Club.  He 
was  an  autocrat,  but  he  shrank  from  spying,  or  at- 
tempting to  coerce  a  member  into  betraying  his  com- 
rades. Some  allowance  must  be  made  for  young 
blood;  and,  after  all,  nothing  that  really  needed  his 
interference  could  go  on,  he  felt,  without  his  learning 
about  it.  Nevertheless,  he  had  a  disturbing  feeling 
that  an  undesirable  influence  was  at  work. 

Carlyon's  room  was  unusually  well  furnished,  and 
several  fine  London  guns  occupied  a  rack  on  the  match- 
boarded  wall.  The  cost  of  one  would  have  purchased 
a  dozen  of  the  Massachusetts-made  weapons  which  the 
prairie  farmers  used.  The  photograph  of  a  horseman 
in  English  hunting  dress  with  M.F.H.  appended  to  the 
autograph  was  equally  suggestive,  and  it  was  known 
that  Carlyon's  people  had  sent  him  to  Canada  with 
money  enough  to  make  a  fair  start.  Unfortunately, 

132 


THE  ENEMY  WITHIN  133 

he  had  not  realized  that  success  in  farming  demands 
care  and  strenuous  work. 

He  sat  with  a  flushed,  excited  face  at  a  rosewood 
table,  upon  which  the  cigar  ends,  bottles,  and  glasses 
scarcely  left  room  for  the  cards  he  was  eagerly  scan- 
ning. Gerald  Mowbray  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
watching  him  with  a  smile.  Emslie,  the  third  man, 
wore  a  disturbed  frown;  opposite  him,  Markham  sat 
with  a  heavy,  vacant  air. 

"  Your  luck's  changing,  Carlyon,"  Gerald  said ; 
"  but  we  must  stop  at  this  round.  Markham's  half 
asleep  —  and  I'm  not  surprised,  considering  what  he's 
drunk;  and  the  Colonel  will  wonder  where  I've  been, 
if  I  stay  much  longer." 

Carlyon  drained  his  glass. 

"  Very  well,"  he  consented,  with  a  harsh  laugh  and 
a  glitter  in  his  eyes.  "  As  I've  a  good  deal  to  get  back, 
I'll  double  and  throw  my  Percheron  team  in.,  Does 
that  take  you  ?  " 

Markham  immediately  became  alert. 

"  I  think  not.     Go  on,  Gerald !  " 

Gerald  put  down  a  card,  Emslie  followed  with  a 
deepening  frown,  but  Markham  chuckled  as  he  played. 
Carlyon  started,  and  then  with  an  obvious  effort  pulled 
himself  together.  For  the  next  few  moments  all  were 
quiet,  and  the  stillness  was  emphasized  by  the  patter  of 
the  falling  cards.  Then  Carlyon  pushed  his  chair  back 
noisily  and  looked  at  the  others,  his  face  pale  and  set. 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  certainty ;  there  was  only  one 
thing  I  forgot,"  he  said  in  a  strained  voice. 

Markham  leaned  forward  heavily. 

"  Fellows  who  play  like  you  can't  afford  to  forget, 
my  boy.  Know  better  next  time ;  let  it  be  a  lesson." 


134        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

Carlyon  glanced  at  a  notebook  and  took  out  a  wad 
of  bills  which  he  tried  to  count. 

"  Sorry,  but  I  seem  to  be  five  dollars  short ;  don't 
know  when  you'll  get  it,  but  I'll  send  the  horses  to  the 
next  Brandon  sales.  I  dare  say  somebody  will  help  me 
with  my  plowing." 

"  Don't  be  an  ass !  "  said  Gerald.  "  Throwing  in 
the  team  was  a  piece  of  silly  bluff.  We're  not  going 
to  take  advantage  of  it." 

Emslie  nodded  agreement;  and  Markham  drawled: 

"  Don't  want  his  splay-footed  beasts,  and  won't  lend 
him  my  good  Clydesdales  to  spoil.  Count  out  the 
bills,  Gerald;  his  hand  is  shaking." 

Carlyon  protested  that  he  was  a  sportsman  and  paid 
his  debts,  but  they  overruled  him. 

"  Silly  thing  to  do,  unless  you're  made,"  Markham 
declared.  Then  he  turned  to  Gerald.  "  What's  be- 
come of  the  younger  brother?  Never  see  him  now." 

"  Oh,  he's  reformed.  On  the  whole,  it's  just  as 
well,  for  there's  not  room  for  two  gamblers  in  the 
family.  Besides,  the  Americans  seem  to  have  got  hold 
of  him :  they  live  like  Methodists." 

"  You  mean  the  girl  has  ?  Devilish  handsome ;  has 
a  grand  way  of  looking  at  you.  Ask  Carlyon;  he 
knows." 

Carlyon  colored  under  Markham' s  broadly  humor- 
ous gaze. 

"  Miss  Harding  won't  trouble  herself  about  Lance," 
he  said.  "  I  may  add  that  she  doesn't  appreciate  a 
graceful  compliment." 

"  Smacked  your  face  ?  "  suggested  Markham  with  a 
chuckle.  "  Must  be  going.  Give  me  my  coat." 


THE  ENEMY  WITHIN  135 

A  newspaper  and  some  letters  fell  out  of  a  pocket 
as  he  put  it  on,  and  he  picked  them  up. 

"  Quite  forgot.  Met  the  mail-carrier  as  I  was  driv- 
ing in.  Better  look  what  wheat  is  doing." 

Carlyon  eagerly  opened  the  paper. 

"  Down  again  two  cents  at  Chicago !  Winnipeg  will 
follow." 

"  There's  a  certain  cure,"  said  Markham  thickly. 
"All  stop  plowing.  If  you  do  nothing  long  enough, 
'must  send  the  market  up.  Call  it  a  brilliant  idea; 
wonder  nobody  else  thought  of  it.  You  look  sober, 
Emslie.  Come  and  help  me  into  my  rig." 

They  went  out,  and  a  few  minutes  afterward  a  furi- 
ous beat  of  hoofs  and  a  rattle  of  wheels  rang  out  across 
the  prairie. 

"  I  hope  he  will  get  home  without  breaking  his 
neck,"  Carlyon  said  to  Gerald. 

"  Oh,  Markham  can  take  care  of  himself.  But  we 
have  something  else  to  think  about  now." 

"  That's  true,"  Carlyon  agreed  with  a  depressed  air. 
"  I  took  your  advice  and  told  that  fellow  in  the  Pit  to 
buy  wheat;  but  I  wish  I'd  heard  Harding's  speech  at 
the  council  before  I  made  the  deal.  Now  it's  clear  that 
I'm  dipped  pretty  deep."  He  picked  up  the  letters 
that  were  scattered  among  the  cards  and  started  as  he 
saw  the  embossed  stamp  on  one  of  them.  "  It's  from 
my  broker;  I'll  soon  know  the  worst." 

Gerald,  lighting  a  cigarette,  watched  the  tense  ex- 
pression of  the  boy's  face  as  he  read  the  letter,  and  for 
a  few  moments  nothing  was  said.  Carlyon  looked 
crushed,  but  Gerald's  position  was  too  serious  to  allow 
of  his  sympathizing  much.  Taking  advantage  of  his 


136        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

friends'  love  of  excitement,  he  had  won  a  number  of 
small  sums  at  cards,  but  this  was  of  no  account  against 
what  he  owed.  After  a  moment  Carlyon  laid  a  state- 
ment of  account  before  him. 

"  You  can  see  how  much  I'm  out." 

"  Can't  you  carry  it  over?  " 

"  Impossible,"  Carlyon  answered  dejectedly.  "  I 
didn't  actually  buy  the  grain ;  I've  got  to  find  the  differ- 
ence. Besides,  what  would  be  the  use  of  holding  on, 
if  wheat's  still  going  to  drop?  " 

"  It's  awkward,"  Gerald  agreed.  "  You  might  get 
some  exemption  under  the  Homesteads  Act,  but  this 
broker  could  sell  you  up.  Would  your  people  do  any- 
thing?" 

"  They  won't  be  asked.  Things  were  not  going  well 
with  them  when  I  left,  and  I  guess  they  find  it  hard 
enough  to  keep  Dick  at  college  and  provide  for  the 
girls.  They  gave  me  a  good  start,  but  it  was  under- 
stood that  I'd  get  nothing  more." 

"  Then  the  only  remedy  is  to  borrow  the  money 
here." 

Carlyon  laughed. 

"Who'd  lend  it  to  me?  Besides,  if  the  Colonel 
knew  how  I  was  fixed,  he'd  turn  me  out  of  the  settle- 
ment." 

"  I  know  a  man  in  Winnipeg  who  does  this  kind  of 
business,  but  he'd  charge  you  high  and  want  a  bond. 
That  means  he'd  seize  your  land  in  a  year  or  two  if 
you  couldn't  pay." 

"  The  other  fellow  would  seize  it  now,"  Carlyon 
said  with  eagerness.  "  If  I  could  get  the  money,  I'd 
have  time  to  see  what  could  be  done,  and  something 
might  turn  up.  Will  you  introduce  me?" 


THE  ENEMY  WITHIN  137 

The  matter  was  arranged  before  Gerald  left;  and 
two  days  later  they  were  in  Winnipeg.  They  found 
Davies  willing  to  do  business.  Indeed,  after  making 
a  few  difficulties  as  an  excuse  for  raising  the  interest, 
he  supplied  Carlyon  with  the  money  he  needed,  and 
when  the  men  left  his  office  he  lighted  a  cigar  with  a 
satisfied  smile.  He  now  held  two  mortgages  on  land 
at  Allenwood,  and  he  thought  that  he  could  make  good 
use  of  them  if,  as  he  expected,  the  loans  were  not 
repaid.  Then  it  was  possible  that  Mowbray  might 
bring  him  another  customer.  He  saw  a  big  profit  for 
himself,  and  trouble  for  the  Allenwood  settlers,  when 
the  reckoning  came. 

Shortly  after  Gerald's  visit  to  Winnipeg,  one  of  his 
neighbors  returned  from  England,  where  he  had  gone 
to  look  into  matters  connected  with  some  property  he 
had  recently  inherited.  His  absence  had  been  a  relief 
to  Beatrice,  and  she  was  especially  disturbed  to  learn 
that  on  his  arrival  he  had  spent  an  hour  in  private  talk 
with  her  father.  Brand  had  continually  shown  strong 
admiration  for  her,  which  she  by  no  means  recipro- 
cated. She  did  not  actually  dislike  the  man;  but  his 
attentions  annoyed  her.  She  knew,  however,  that  he 
enjoyed  Colonel  Mowbray's  full  approval.  He  came 
of  good  family  and  his  character  was  irreproachable; 
moreover,  being  past  forty,  he  had  outgrown  all  youth- 
ful rashnesses.  Of  rather  handsome  person  and  pol- 
ished manners,  Brand  was  generally  characterized  by 
staid  gravity,  and  Mowbray  considered  his  views  ex- 
ceptionally sound. 

Beatrice  was  keenly  curious  about  what  he  had  said 
to  her.  father.  She  imagined  that  her  mother  knew, 
but  no  hint  was  given  to  her,  and  when  she  met  Brand 


138        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

it  was  always  in  the  company  of  others  and  there  was 
nothing  to  be  gathered  from  his  manner.  It  was,  how- 
ever, not  often  that  he  displayed  his  sentiments. 

The  thaw  had  begun  when  she  walked  home  from 
the  Broadwood  farm  one  afternoon.  The  snow  had 
vanished  as  if  by  magic,  and  shallow  lagoons  glittered 
among  the  bleached  grass.  The  sky  was  a  brilliant 
blue,  and  rounded  clouds  with  silver  edges  rolled 
across  it  before  the  fresh  northwest  breeze  which 
would  blow  persistently  until  summer  was  done. 
Their  swift  shadows  streaked  the  plain  and  passed, 
leaving  it  suffused  with  light.  There  was  a  genial 
softness  in  the  air. 

Beatrice  picked  her  way  cautiously  toward  a  strag- 
gling bluff,  for  the  ponds  along  its  edge  had  overflowed 
and  the  ground  was  marish.  On  reaching  the  woods 
she  stopped  in  a  sheltered  nook  to  enjoy  the  sunshine. 
The  birches  and  poplars  were  bare,  but  their  stems 
were  changing  color  and  the  twigs  had  lost  their  dry 
and  brittle  look.  The  willows  in  a  hollow  were 
stained  with  vivid  hues  by  the  rising  sap,  and  there  was 
a  flush  of  green  among  the  grass.  Small  purple  flow- 
ers like  crocuses  were  pushing  through  the  sod.  From 
high  overhead  there  fell  a  harsh,  clanging  cry,  and  the 
girl,  looking  up,  saw  a  flock  of  brent  geese  picked  out 
in  a  wedge  against  the  sky.  Behind  came  a  wedge  of 
mallard,  and  farther  off,  gleaming  snowily,  a  flight  of 
sandhill  cranes.  Spring  was  in  the  air;  the  birds  had 
heard  its  call,  and  were  pressing  on  toward  the  polar 
marshes,  following  the  sun.  Beatrice  felt  a  curious 
stirring  of  her  blood.  It  was  half  pleasant,  half  pain- 
ful, for  while  she  responded  to  the  gladness  that  per- 


THE  ENEMY  WITHIN  139 

vaded  everything  the  sunshine  kissed,  she  was  con- 
scious of  a  disturbing  longing,  a  mysterious  discontent. 
She  would  not  try  to  analyze  her  feelings,  but  she  felt 
that  her  life  was  narrow  and  somehow  incomplete. 

She  was  startled  presently  by  a  drumming  of  hoofs ; 
and  she  frowned  as  Brand  rode  out  of  the  bluff.  He 
had  seen  her,  and  she  decided  not  to  try  to  avoid  him 
by  walking  on.  If  she  must  face  a  crisis,  it  was  better 
to  get  it  over.  Brand  got  down  and  turned  to  her 
with  a  smile.  He  looked  well  in  his  wide,  gray  hat 
and  his  riding  dress,  for  the  picturesqueness  of  the 
fringed  deerskin  jacket,  which  was  then  the  vogue  at 
Allenwood,  did  not  detract  from  his  air  of  dignity. 
His  features  were  regular,  but  his  expression  was 
somewhat  cold. 

"  I'm  glad  we  have  met,  and  I'll  confess  that  I  ex- 
pected to  find  you  here.  In  fact,  I  came  to  look  for 
you,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

Beatrice  knew  what  was  coming.  While  she  felt 
that  it  would  be  better  to  meet  the  situation  frankly, 
she  nevertheless  shrank  from  doing  so. 

"  I  have  seen  so  little  of  you  since  you  came  home," 
she  said,  partly  to  defer  his  declaration,  "  that  I  haven't 
had  an  opportunity  for  expressing  my  sympathy." 

"  It  was  a  shock,"  he  answered.  "  I  hadn't  seen 
either  of  my  cousins  since  they  were  boys,  but  we  were 
good  friends  then,  and  I  never  expected  to  succeed 
them.  Their  yacht  was  run  down  at  night,  and  when 
the  steamer  got  her  boat  out  only  the  paid  hand  was 
left." 

"  Will  you  go  back  to  England  now  to  live  ?  " 

"  I  think  I'll  stay  at  Allenwood.     One  gets  used  to 


140        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

Western  ways  —  although  there's  a  good  deal  to  be 
said  for  either  course,  and  it  doesn't  altogether  depend 
on  me." 

Beatrice  hesitated  a  moment,  then: 

"  There  is  some  one  else  to  please  ?  "  she  asked  with 
charming  innocence. 

Brand  drew  a  quick  breath  as  he  gazed  at  the  young 
face  so  near  him.  She  was  leaning  against  a  poplar 
trunk,  the  sun  fretting  her  with  gold  between  the  bare 
branches,  the  wind  caressing  a  few  loose  strands  of 
hair  that  were  blown  across  her  cheek. 

"  I  will  please  the  girl  I  hope  to  marry,"  he  said  in 
a  strained  voice.  "  She  loves  the  prairie,  and  she  shall 
have  her  choice.  I  think  you  know,  Beatrice,  that  I 
have  long  been  waiting  for  you." 

Beatrice  was  annoyed  to  find  herself  blushing. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  faltered.  "  You  know  I  tried  to 
show  you  —  you  must  see  it  was  difficult." 

"  It  is  not  your  fault  that  I  wouldn't  take  a  hint," 
he  answered  quietly.  "  But  you  are  very  young ;  and 
I  knew  that  I  would  never  change." 

"  You  thought  I  might  ?  " 

"  I  hoped  so.  I  was  afraid  that  after  the  romantic 
admiration  you  have  had  from  the  boys,  you  might 
find  me  too  matter-of-fact  and  staid.  But  there  was 
a  chance  that  you  might  get  used  to  that,  and  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  be  patient." 

"  I'm  sorry,  for  your  sake,  that  you  waited." 

Her  glance  was  gently  regretful,  and  he  read  deci- 
sion in  it,  but  he  was  a  determined  man. 

"  It  seems  I  haven't  waited  long  enough,"  he  re- 
turned with  a  faint  smile.  "  But  while  you  will  grow 
more  attractive  for  a  long  time  yet,  I  have  reached  my 


THE  ENEMY  WITHIN  141 

prime,  and  inheriting  the  English  property  rather 
forced  my  hand.  After  all,  our  life  here  is  bare  and 
monotonous  —  you  would  have  a  wider  circle  and 
more  scope  in  the  Old  Country." 

Beatrice  liked  his  terseness  and  in  some  ways  she 
liked  and  respected  him.  Moreover  she  was  offered 
a  beautiful  English  country  house,  a  position  of  some 
influence,  and  friends  of  taste  and  rank. 

"  You  were  very  considerate,"  she  said.  "  But  I'm 
afraid  what  you  wish  is  impossible." 

"  Wait !  "  he  begged.  "  I  haven't  said  much  about 
myself,  but  I  believe  I  appreciate  you  better  than  any 
of  the  boys  is  capable  of  doing;  I  could  carry  your 
wishes  further  and  take  more  care  of  you."  He 
paused  with  a  grave  smile.  "  I'm  not  a  romantic  per- 
son, but  I  think  I'm  trustworthy.  Then,  it  would 
please  your  father." 

"Ah!     You  have  told  him?" 

"  Yes ;  and  he  was  good  enough  to  express  his  full 
approval." 

Beatrice's  face  was  disturbed,  but  she  answered 
frankly : 

"  Though  I  know  you  won't  take  an  unfair  advan- 
tage of  his  consent,  I  wish  you  hadn't  gone  to  him.  It 
may  make  things  more  difficult  for  me.  And  now, 
please  understand  that  I  cannot  marry  you." 

Brand's  lips  came  together  in  a  straight  line.  He 
did  not  have  a  pleasant  look;  but  his  voice  was  un- 
usually suave  when  he  answered: 

"  It  looks  as  if  I  must  face  my  disappointment.  I'll 
do  nothing  that  might  embarrass  you.  All  the  same, 
I  warn  you  that  I  shall  not  despair." 

"  You  must  not  think  of  me,"  Beatrice  said  firmly. 


142        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  but  I  want  to  save  you  trouble." 

He  quietly  picked  up  his  horse's  bridle. 

"You  are  going  home?  May  I  walk  with  you  as 
far  as  the  trail-forks  ?  " 

Beatrice  could  not  refuse  this,  and  he  talked  pleas- 
antly about  Allenwood  matters  until  he  left  her.  She 
went  on  alone  in  a  thoughtful  mood.  She  wished  that 
Brand  had  not  made  his  offer,  because  she  knew  that 
her  refusal  had  been  a  blow,  and  she  did  not  like  to 
think  that  she  had  wounded  him.  Moreover,  his  quiet 
persistence  might  still  prove  troublesome.  Perhaps  it 
was  unfortunate  that  she  could  not  return  his  affec- 
tion; for  Brand  had  many  good  qualities,  and  her 
father  approved  of  him.  Then,  with  a  thrill  of  per- 
plexing emotion,  she  thought  of  Harding.  In  some 
respects,  he  was  too  practical  and  matter-of-fact;  but 
she  knew  that  his  character  had  another  side.  While 
he  worked  and  planned,  he  had  dreams  of  a  splendid 
future  which  she  thought  would  be  realized.  He  was 
a  visionary  as  well  as  a  man  of  affairs ;  virile,  daring, 
and  beneath  the  surface  generous  and  tender.  It  was 
curious  how  she  knew  so  much  about  him,  yet  she  felt 
that  she  was  right. 

Harding  was,  however,  barred  out,  so  to  speak; 
divided  from  her  by  conventions  and  traditions  that 
could  not  be  broken,  unless,  indeed,  love  warranted  the 
sacrifice.  But  she  would  not  admit  that  she  loved  him. 
He  loved  her,  she  knew ;  but  that  was  not  enough.  It 
was  all  complicated;  nothing  seemed  right.  She  no 
longer  noticed  the  sunshine  or  the  bracing  freshness 
of  the  wind  as  she  moved  on  across  the  plain  with 
downcast  eyes. 

Nerving  herself    for   the   encounter,    she   told   her 


THE  ENEMY  WITHIN  143 

father  that  evening,  and  he  sat  silent  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, looking  hard  at  her  while  she  stood  by  his 
writing  table  with  an  embarrassed  air. 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  are  very  hard  to  please,"  he 
said. 

"  Perhaps  I  am,"  she  answered.  "  But  I  don't  like 
him  enough." 

"  I  suppose  that's  an  adequate  reason,  but  I  regret 
it  keenly.  It  would  have  been  a  relief  to  know  your 
future  was  secure,  as  it  would  have  been  with  Brand." 

Beatrice  was  touched.  He  had  not  taken  the  line 
she  expected,  and  she  saw  that  he  was  anxious. 

"  Perhaps  it's  better  that  you  should  learn  the  truth," 
he  went  on.  "  For  the  last  few  years  my  affairs  have 
not  gone  well.  Gerald's  extravagance  has  been  a 
heavy  drain ;  Lance  is  young  and  rash ;  and  I  feel  now 
that  the  prosperity  of  Allenwood  is  threatened.  The 
American  made  me  realize  that.  In  fact,  the  fellow 
has  brought  us  trouble  ever  since  he  came." 

"  Perhaps  it  might  be  wise  to  take  a  few  of  the  pre- 
cautions he  recommended,"  Beatrice  suggested,  eager 
to  lead  him  away  from  the  subject  of  Brand. 

Mowbray's  eyes  flashed  with  anger. 

"No!  If  we  are  to  be  ruined,  I  hope  we'll  meet 
our  fate  like  gentlemen  —  and  it  may  not  come  to  that. 
We  have  struggled  through  critical  periods  before,  and 
can  make  a  good  fight  yet  without  using  detestable 
means." 

Beatrice  was  troubled.  She  admired  her  father's 
pride  and  courage,  but  she  had  an  uncomfortable 
suspicion  that  he  was  leading  a  forlorn  hope.  Un- 
flinching bravery  was  not  the  only  thing  needful :  one 
could  not  face  long  odds  with  obsolete  weapons. 


144        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  But  they  are  not  all  detestable,"  she  urged.  "  You 
could  choose  the  best  —  or,  if  you  like,  the  least  of- 
fensive." 

"  Compromise  is  dangerously  easy ;  when  you  begin, 
you  are  apt  to  go  all  the  way.  I  didn't  expect  this 
from  you.  I  believed  my  own  family  staunch,  and  I 
must  say  it's  a  shock  to  find  the  tradesman's  spirit  in 
my  children.  Even  Lance  shows  the  taint.  He  actu- 
ally is  planning  to  sell  his  riding  horses  and  buy  some 
machine  that  will  save  a  hired  man's  wages !  " 

Beatrice  smiled. 

"  Perhaps  that  is  better  than  following  Gerald's 
example.  But  you  mustn't  be  unjust.  You  know 
that  none  of  us  would  think  of  thwarting  you." 

She  crossed  over  to  the  back  of  his  chair  and  put 
her  arms  around  him. 

"  I'm  sorry  you  are  disappointed  about  Mr.  Brand," 
she  said  softly;  "but  I  know  you'll  forgive  me." 

Before  he  could  answer,  she  had  slipped  out  of  the 
room.  She  went  at  once  to  find  her  mother. 

"  Your  father  would  never  force  you  to  marry  a  man 
you  do  not  care  for,"  Mrs.  Mowbray  assured  her. 
"  So  far  as  that  goes,  you  have  nothing  to  fear." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Beatrice  asked  in  alarm. 

Her  mother's  eyes  were  anxious,  and  there  was  a 
warning  in  the  look  she  gave  the  girl. 

"  My  dear,  you  would  not  find  him  compliant  if  you 
wished  to  marry  a  man  he  did  not  approve  of." 

Beatrice  stooped  to  flick  an  imaginary  piece  of  lint 
off  of  her  skirt.  She  did  not  want  her  mother  to  see 
her  face  just  then. 

"  After  all,"  she  answered,  far  more  confidently 
than  she  felt,  "  that  may  never  happen." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   TRAITOR 

THE  prairie  was  bright  with  sunshine,  and  the 
boisterous  west  wind  was  cut  off  by  a  bluff 
where  Harding  sat  amid  a  litter  of  dismantled  ma- 
chinery. Behind  him  the  newly  opened  birch  leaves 
showed  specks  of  glowing  green,  and  a  jack-rabbit, 
which  had  put  off  its  winter  coat  and  was  now  dappled 
white  and  gray,  fed  quietly,  with  a  watchful  eye  turned 
toward  the  unconscious  man ;  in  front,  the  vast  sweep 
of  grass  that  flashed  with  a  silvery  gleam  as  it  bowed 
to  the  wind  was  broken  by  the  warm  chocolate  hue 
of  a  broad  strip  of  plowing.  The  rows  of  clods,  with 
their  polished  faces,  stretched  across  the  foreground; 
and  on  their  outer  edge  Devine,  dressed  in  overalls 
the  color  of  the  soil,  drove  a  team  of  big,  red  oxen. 

Harding,  however,  was  absorbed  in  the  study  of 
several  brass  rings  and  coils  of  packing  that  had  formed 
the  gland  of  a  pump.  Near  by  stood  a  giant  plow  with 
a  row  of  shares,  looking  out  of  place  among  the  earth 
and  grass  with  its  glaring  paint,  its  ugly  boiler,  and  its 
sooty  stack,  though  the  work  that  it  had  done  was  ob- 
vious. Something  had  gone  wrong,  and  Harding  was 
trying  to  locate  the  trouble.  The  delay  was  embar- 
rassing, for  he  had  a  wide  stretch  of  land  to  break, 
and  the  loss  of  even  an  hour  was  serious.  There  was 
not  a  trained  mechanic  in  the  neighborhood;  and  if 

i45 


146        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

the  plow  were  likely  to  give  him  trouble,  the  sooner  he 
learned  to  master  it  the  better.  Every  part  of  the 
machine  seemed  to  be  perfect;  yet  the  steam  had  gone 
down  on  the  previous  evening,  and  he  must  find  out 
the  reason.  It  was  exasperating  work. 

While  Harding  was  struggling  with  the  pump,  Be- 
atrice came  along  the  trail  through  the  bluff.  Her 
companion,  Banff,  one  of  Lance's  many  dogs,  had 
trailed  off  through  the  bushes,  his  nose  to  the  ground, 
and  she  was,  for  the  moment,  alone.  When  she 
caught  sight  of  Harding  she  stopped  irresolutely.  She 
felt  that  it  might  be  wiser  to  pass  on  without  disturb- 
ing him ;  yet  something  compelled  her  to  wait. 

She  stood  watching  him.  He  attracted  her  —  that 
much  she  admitted;  but  she  persuaded  herself  that  it 
was  only  because  he  was  interesting  to  talk  to  and,  un- 
like the  other  men  she  knew,  he  said  things  that  made 
one  think. 

Harding  was  so  deep  in  his  machinery  problem  that 
he  did  not  see  her.  He  was  once  more  fitting  the  dif- 
ferent parts  together,  when  Banff  came  bounding  out 
of  the  bushes  with  a  glad  bark  and  the  little  gray  rab- 
bit scuttled  off  through  the  briars. 

Harding  turned  quickly;  and  Beatrice  saw  his  eyes 
light  up. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  come,"  he  said,  emptying  a  box 
of  tools  and  turning  it  upside  down.  "  That  isn't  a 
bad  seat  —  and  the  sun's  pleasant  here." 

Beatrice  noticed  that  he  took  it  for  granted  that  she 
would  remain;  but,  after  all,  he  had  some  reason  for 
this,  for  they  seldom  passed  without  stopping  to  speak 
when  they  met. 


THE  TRAITOR  147 

"  Has  the  machine  gone  wrong?  "  she  asked,  sitting 
down  where  the  sunlight  fell  upon  her. 

"  Yes,  pretty  badly.  I  can't  find  out  what's  the  mat- 
ter. I  suppose  you  think  it's  a  just  punishment  for 
bringing  such  things  to  Allen  wood?" 

She  laughed. 

"  Well,  you  gave  our  friends  some  offense  when  you 
brought  your  plow  over  and  broke  Kenwyne's  land." 

"  I  expected  that.  There'll  no  doubt  be  more  re- 
marks when  I  break  the  piece  of  stiff  gumbo  on  Lance's 
holding." 

Beatrice  looked  up  sharply. 

"  You  mean  to  do  that  ?  You  must  know  it  will 
cause  trouble,"  she  said  with  a  frown. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  displease  you ;  but  this  is  something 
that  must  be  done." 

"  Why  must  it  ?  Do  you  wish  Lance  to  offend  his 
father?" 

"  No ;  but  Colonel  Mowbray  has  no  cause  for  com- 
plaint. He  gave  the  land  to  Lance  on  the  understand- 
ing that  he  worked  it ;  there's  no  reason  why  he  should 
object  to  his  using  the  best  implements.  Then,  Lance 
is  your  brother  and  I  don't  want  to  see  him  ruined." 

Beatrice  blushed  under  his  frank  gaze;  and  because 
she  was  annoyed  at  doing  so,  she  flung  out  a  taunt : 

"  Do  you  think  the  only  way  of  escaping  ruin  is  to 
copy  you?  " 

Harding  laughed.  He  loved  her  in  that  mood.  She 
looked  so  alluring  with  a  little  frown  between  her 
brows  and  just  the  suspicion  of  a  pout  on  her  lips. 

"  You  see,"  he  explained,  in  a  voice  that  he  might 
have -used  to  an  offended  child,  "your  Allenwood 


148        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

friends  will  have  to  make  a  change  soon,  or  they'll 
suffer.  And  their  attitude  is  not  logical.  Your  father 
doesn't  ask  them  to  cultivate  with  the  spade;  they've 
dropped  the  ox-teams  and  bought  Clydesdales ;  they've 
given  up  the  single  furrow  and  use  the  gang-plow. 
Why  not  go  on  to  steam?  After  all,  you're  not  stand- 
ing still:  you're  moving  forward  a  little  behind  the 
times.  Why  not  keep  abreast  of  them,  or  push  on 
ahead?" 

"  It  sounds  plausible,"  she  admitted.  "  In  a  way, 
perhaps,  you're  right;  but " 

"  I  know.  There's  much  that's  fine  and  graceful 
in  the  customs  of  the  past.  But  you  can't  preserve 
them  without  some  adaptation.  We're  a  new  nation 
working  in  the  melting  pot.  All  the  scum  and  dross 
comes  to  the  top  and  makes  an  ugly  mess,  but  the  froth- 
ing up  clarifies  the  rest.  By  and  by  the  product  will 
be  run  out,  hard,  true  metal." 

"  You're  an  optimist." 

Harding  laughed. 

"  I'm  talking  at  random;  it's  a  weakness  of  mine." 

Beatrice  sat  silent  a  moment,  looking  out  over  the 
stretch  of  brown  furrows. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  continue  the  breaking  to  where 
your  partner  is  at  work?"  she  asked,  putting  her 
thoughts  into  words. 

"  I'm  going  farther  back.  You  can  see  our  guide- 
poles  on  the  top  of  the  last  ridge." 

"  But  isn't  it  rash  to  sow  so  much,  unless  you  have 
a  reserve  to  carry  you  over  a  bad  harvest?  Suppose 
the  summer's  dry  or  we  get  autumn  frost?  " 

"  Then,"  said  Harding  grimly,  "  there'll  be  a  disas- 
trous smash.  I've  no  reserve :  I'm  plowing  under  every 


THE  TRAITOR  149 

cent  I  have  —  staking  all  upon  the  chances  of  the 
weather." 

"But  why  do  you  take  such  a  risk?  Doesn't  it 
daunt  you?  " 

He  saw  a  gleam  of  sympathetic  approval  in  her 
eyes.  She  had  courage:  it  was  in  the  blood  of  those 
who  stood  for  lost  causes.  Suddenly  swept  off  his 
feet,  he  determined  to  follow  the  lead  she  unconsciously 
had  given  him. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  leaning  forward  on  the  big  plow, 
"  I'll  tell  you." 

He  paused  with  a  smile,  for  he  saw  that  the  position 
he  accidentally  had  taken  was  unfortunate.  He  had 
associated  himself  with  the  machine  which,  in  a  sense, 
materialized  the  difference  between  her  people  and  him. 
He  did  not  change  his  position;  instead,  one  hand 
moved  caressingly  over  the  clumsy  plow  while  he 
spoke. 

"  One  gets  easily  nothing  that's  worth  having;  it 
must  be  worked  and  schemed  and  fought  for.  I  took 
the  risk  for  you !  " 

Beatrice  started  and  an  indignant  flush  suffused  her 
face.  She  was  alarmed  and  angry,  and  yet  the  shock 
she  felt  was  not  surprise.  He  had  once  given  her  a 
plain  warning,  and  she  had  continued  to  see  him.  Her 
traditions  took  arms  against  him,  old  prejudices  re- 
vived, and  her  pride  was  wounded,  but  something  in 
her  turned  traitor,  and  she  felt  a  strange  responsive 
thrill. 

"  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  saying,"  she  said 
haughtily,  rising  from  the  tool-box  and  turning  toward 
a  spot  of  bare  ground  where  the  dog  was  digging  ener- 
getically. "  Here,  Banff !  "  Then,  obeying  some  im- 


150        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

pulse  which  she  did  not  understand,  she  added  to  Hard- 
ing: "  You  scarcely  know  anything  about  me!  " 

"  When  I  met  you  that  night  at  the  river  and  saw 
your  face  in  the  moonlight,  I  knew  all  that  was  need- 
ful." 

The  answer  moved  the  girl.  She  wondered  whether 
one  could  fall  in  love  that  way.  But  she  must  end  the 
interview  and  escape  from  an  embarrassing  position. 

"  I  am  sorry  our  acquaintance  has  led  to  this ;  I 
would  have  prevented  it  if  I  could,"  she  said.  "  And 
now,  good-afternoon !  " 

Harding  straightened  up,  and  one  hand  clenched. 

"  Stop !     We're  going  to  thrash  this  matter  out." 

His  manner  was  commanding  and  Beatrice  waited, 
although  she  was  not  used  to  obeying. 

"  You  were  angry  at  first,"  he  said.  "  You  are 
rather  angry  now ;  but  I  did  you  no  wrong." 

"  I  admit  that.  But  I  wish  this  hadn't  happened. 
It  has  spoiled  everything." 

"  Then  you  liked  me  as  a  friend  ?  " 

"Yes,"  Beatrice  answered  hesitatingly;  "I'll  be 
frank.  You  are  different  from  the  men  I  know." 

"  Then  what  have  you  against  me  as  a  lover  ? 
Character,  person,  manners,  or  opinions?" 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  feeling  that  she  ought  to 
go  away.  In  staying  she  was  trifling  with  danger; 
but  after  all  he  had  a  right  to  be  heard. 

"  Oh,  I  know  your  people's  point  of  view,"  he  went 
on ;  "  but  I  think  it  is  not  altogether  yours.  In  one  re- 
spect, they're  wrong.  My  mother  was  the  daughter  of 
a  bush  pioneer,  and  in  all  that's  most  important  I'm  her 
son;  but  my  father  belonged  to  your  own  rank.  He 


THE  TRAITOR  151 

was  brought  up  as  an  English  gentleman.  I'll  show 
you  the  evidence  I  have  of  this  some  day,  though  it 
makes  no  difference." 

"  It  must  make  a  difference,"  Beatrice  insisted  with 
a  surprised  look. 

"  It  can  make  none.  For  some  reason  his  relatives 
cast  him  off,  and  declined  to  claim  me.  I  don't  know 
why,  and  I  shall  never  trouble  to  find  out.  I  tell  you 
this  because  I  think  you  ought  to  know.  It  is  as  Craig 
Harding,  the  prairie  farmer,  that  I  stand  or  fall;  my 
own  faults  and  merits  are  the  only  things  that  count." 

"  It's  a  bold  claim  you  make." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  so  far,  I've  been  clearing  the 
ground.  The  sure  foundation  is  the  bed-rock  of  hu- 
man nature,  and  we  must  settle  this  as  man  and  woman. 
I  know  what  you  are;  I  knew  when  I  first  saw  you; 
and  I  want  you.  I  need  you,  Beatrice.  My  love  is 
great  enough  to  master  any  doubt  you  may  have,  and 
to  hold  you  safe  from  all  harm.  Then,  if  all  goes  well, 
I  can  give  you  what  you  wish,  and  put  you  where  you 
want  to  be.  The  woman  I  marry  will  have  a  wider 
influence  than  the  wife  of  any  man  at  Allenwood;  a 
small  matter  in  the  real  scale  of  things,  but  with  so 
much  against  me  I  must  urge  all  I  can."  He  paused 
and  stretched  out  his  hands.  "  You  are  not  afraid, 
Beatrice.  It  is  not  too  great  a  venture  for  you  ?  " 

She  stood  still,  with  a  tense  expression,  struggling 
against  something  that  drew  her  toward  him.  Pru- 
dence, training,  and  prejudice,  urged  her  to  resist,  and 
yet  she  was  on  the  point  of  yielding. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  she  said.  "  Only  one  thing  could 
justify,  such  a  risk." 


152        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  That's  true ;  it's  what  encourages  me.  You 
couldn't  have  made  me  love  you  as  I  do,  unless  you 
were  able  to  give  love  in  return." 

She  was  silent,  knowing  that  what  he  said  was  true. 

He  took  a  step  nearer  her,  and  his  own  face  was 
tense. 

"If  you  can  declare  you  care  nothing  at  all  for  me, 
that  it  would  cause  you  no  regret  if  you  never  saw  me 
again,  I'll  make  the  best  fight  I  can  with  my  trouble 
and  leave  you  alone  for  good.  You  will  answer 
honestly  ?  " 

The  color  swept  into  her  face,  for  she  felt  compelled 
to  speak  the  naked  truth. 

"  I  can't  go  so  far  as  that,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"  I  should  feel  regret." 

"  Then  the  rest  will  follow !  Why  do  you  hesi- 
tate?" 

She  smiled,  for  the  matter  was  too  serious  for  trivial 
embarrassment,  and  she  knew  the  man  would  force  her 
to  deal  frankly  with  plain  issues. 

"You  seem  so  sure?" 

"  I  am,  of  myself." 

"  The  difficulty  is  that  I'm  not  an  isolated  individual, 
but  a  member  of  a  family,  and  belong  to  a  race  that 
has  its  code  of  rules.  I  must  think  of  the  shock  to 
my  parents  and  my  friends ;  all  the  pain  that  any  rash 
act  of  mine  might  give  to  others.  They  may  be  wrong, 
but  what  they  think  I  feel,  in  a  half -instinctive  way, 
that  reasoning  can't  change.  I  should  have  to  stand 
upon  defense  against  my  subconscious  self." 

"  I  know,"  he  said  gently.  "  But  the  choice  is  one 
that  many  have  to  make.  One  must  often  stand  alone. 


THE  TRAITOR  153 

It's  true  that  I  have  all  to  gain  and  you  all  to  risk; 
but,  Beatrice " 

He  broke  off,  and  held  out  both  hands  appealingly  to 
her. 

"Beatrice!" 

The  girl  was  deeply  stirred.  She  had  not  expected 
him  to  plead  like  this.  In  her  world  one  took  things 
for  granted  and  implied  instead  of  asserting  them.  At 
Allenwood  he  was  spoken  of  as  a  rude,  materialistic 
iconoclast,  but  she  had  found  him  a  reckless  idealist; 
although  he  made  her  feel  that  instead  of  being  im- 
practical he  was  dealing  with  stern  realities.  She 
would  have  made  the  great  adventure  only  that  she 
was  not  sure  of  her  own  heart  yet.  The  consequences 
were  too  serious  for  one  to  risk  a  mistake. 

She  stood  motionless,  her  eyes  veiled  by  her  dark 
lashes,  and  he  knew  the  struggle  that  was  going  on 
within  her.  In  his  own  eyes  there  was  a  great  yearn- 
ing; but  a  birthright  of  the  pioneer  is  patience. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  ask  too  much,"  she  said  at  last. 
"If  you  like,  you  may  think  I  am  not  brave  enough." 
She  raised  her  eyes  to  his ;  and  winced  at  the  pain  she 
saw  there.  But  she  went  on  bravely :  "  Had  things 
been  different,  I  might  perhaps  have  married  you,  but 
I  think  our  ways  are  separate.  And  now  you  must 
let  me  go,  and  not  speak  of  this  again." 

He  bowed,  and  it  struck  Beatrice  that  there  was  a 
great  dignity  in  his  bearing. 

"  Very  well,"  he  answered  gravely.  "  I  will  not 
trouble  you  again  unless,  in  one  way  or  another,  you 
give  me  permission." 

She  turned  away,  and  he  stood  still  until  long  after 


154        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

she  and  the  dog  had  disappeared  in  the  bluff.  Then 
he  roused  himself  with  a  laugh. 

"I  won't  get  her  this  way!"  he  said  half  aloud, 
and  picked  up  some  of  the  fittings  of  the  pump. 

Beatrice  went  straight  to  her  mother,  for  there  was 
strong  confidence  between  the  two. 

"  So  you  refused  him!  "  Mrs.  Mowbray  said,  after 
listening  silently  while  Beatrice  was  telling  her  of  the 
interview.  "  Did  you  find  it  hard  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  slowly ;  "  harder  than  I 
thought.  But  it  was  the  only  way." 

"  If  you  felt  that,  dear,  it  certainly  was  so." 

Beatrice  looked  up  in  surprise,  but  her  mother's 
face  was  quietly  thoughtful. 

"  You  can't  mean  that  I  did  not  do  right?  " 

"  No ;  there's  a  heavy  penalty  for  leaving  the  circle 
you  were  born  in  and  breaking  caste.  It  would  have 
hurt  me  to  see  you  suffer  as  you  must  have  done. 
Only  the  very  brave  can  take  that  risk." 

The  girl  was  puzzled.  Her  mother  agreed  with  her, 
and  yet  she  had  faintly  reflected  Harding's  ideas. 

"  Well,"  Beatrice  said,  "  I  shrink  from  telling 
Father." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  he  need  know.  It  would  disturb 
him,  and  he  might  do  something  that  we  should  regret. 
On  the  whole,  I  think  you  had  better  visit  our  friends 
in  Toronto  as  you  were  asked.  They  would  be  glad 
to  have  you  for  the  summer." 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  run  away?  "  Beatrice  asked  in 
surprise. 

"  It  might  be  better  for  both.  Harding  is  not  one 
of  us,  but  I  think  he  feels  things  deeply,  and  his  is  a 


THE  TRAITOR  155 

stubborn  nature.  In  a  sense,  it  is  your  duty  to  make 
it  as  easy  as  you  can  for  him." 

Beatrice  looked  at  her  mother  curiously. 

"  You  seem  more  concerned  about  Mr.  Harding  than 
I  expected." 

"  He  gave  your  brother  his  coat  in  the  blizzard  and 
saved  his  life,"  Mrs.  Mowbray  answered.  "  That 
counts  for  something." 

The  girl  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  Well,  I'll  go  to  Toronto,"  she  promised. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A    BOLD    SCHEME 

ONE  morning  a  week  or  two  after  his  meeting  with 
Beatrice,  Harding  drove  his  rattling  engine 
across  the  plowed  land.  His  face  was  sooty,  his  over- 
alls were  stained  with  grease,  and  now  and  then  a 
shower  of  cinders  fell  about  his  head.  Behind  him 
Devine  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  dust-cloud,  regulating 
the  bite  of  the  harrows  that  tossed  about  the  hard,  dry 
clods.  It  was  good  weather  for  preparing  the  seed- 
bed, and  the  men  had  been  busy  since  sunrise,  making 
the  most  of  it.  Spring  comes  suddenly  in  the  North- 
west, the  summer  is  hot  but  short,  and  the  grain  must 
be  sown  early  if  it  is  to  escape  the  autumn  frost. 

When  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  breaking,  Hard- 
ing stopped  the  engine,  and,  taking  a  spanner  from  a 
box,  turned  to  look  about.  The  blue  sky  was  flecked 
with  fleecy  clouds  driving  fast  before  the  western 
breeze.  The  grass  had  turned  a  vivid  green,  and  was 
checkered  by  clusters  of  crimson  lilies.  The  ducks  and 
geese  had  gone,  but  small  birds  of  glossy  black  plumage 
with  yellow  bars  on  their  wings  fluttered  round  the 
harrows. 

"  Looks  promising,"  Harding  said.  "  The  season 
has  begun  well.  That's  fortunate,  for  we  have  lots  to 
do.  I'd  go  on  all  night  if  there  was  a  moon." 

156 


A  BOLD  SCHEME  157 

"  Then  I'm  glad  there  isn't,"  Devine  replied ;  "  I 
want  some  sleep.  But  this  jolting's  surely  rough  on 
the  machine.  I  wasn't  sure  that  new  locomotive  type 
would  work.  She's  too  heavy  to  bang  across  the  fur- 
rows with  her  boiler  on  board." 

"  She'll  last  until  I  get  my  money  back,  which  is  all 
I  want.  The  rope-haulage  pattern  has  its  drawbacks, 
but  the  machine  we're  using  won't  be  on  the  market 
long.  They'll  do  away  with  furnace  and  boiler,  and 
drive  by  gasoline  or  oil.  I'd  thought  of  trying  that, 
but  they  haven't  got  the  engine  quite  right  yet." 

"  You  look  ahead,"  Devine  commented. 

"I  have  to;  I  must  make  this  farm  pay.  Now  if 
you'll  clear  the  harrows,  I'll  tighten  these  brasses  up." 

He  set  to  work,  but  while  he  adjusted  the  loose  bear- 
ing Devine  announced  in  a  whisper : 

"Here's  the  Colonel!" 

Harding  saw  Mowbray  riding  toward  them,  and 
went  on  with  his  task.  Beatrice  had  no  doubt  told  her 
mother  about  his  proposal,  and  he  could  imagine  the 
Colonel's  anger  if  he  had  heard  of  it.  Pulling  up  his 
horse  near  the  harrows,  Mowbray  sat  silent,  watching 
Harding.  Fastidiously  neat  in  dress,  with  long  riding 
gloves  and  a  spotless  gray  hat,  he  formed  a  marked 
contrast  to  the  big,  greasy  man  sprinkled  with  soot 
from  the  engine. 

"  I  regret,  Mr.  Harding,  that  after  the  service  you 
did  my  son,  I  should  come  with  a  complaint  when  I 
visit  you." 

"  We'll  let  the  service  go ;  I'll  answer  the  complaint 
as  far  as  I  can." 

"  Very  well.  I  was  disagreeably  surprised  to  learn 
that  you  have  persuaded  my  friends  to  take  a  course 


158        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

which  the  majority  of  our  council  decided  against,  and 
to  which  it  is  well  known  that  I  object." 

Harding  felt  relieved.  Mowbray  did  not  seem  to 
know  of  what  he  had  said  to  Beatrice,  and  his  griev- 
ance did  not  require  very  delicate  handling.  Harding 
was  too  proud  to  conciliate  him,  and  as  he  could  ex- 
pect nothing  but  uncompromising  opposition,  he  saw 
no  necessity  for  forbearance. 

"  The  majority  was  one,  a  casting  vote,"  he  said. 
"  If  you  are  referring  to  my  plowing  for  some  of  your 
people,  I  did  not  persuade  them.  They  saw  the  ad- 
vantage of  mechanical  traction  and  asked  me  to  bring 
the  engine  over." 

"  The  explanation  doesn't  take  us  far.  It's  obvious 
that  they  couldn't  have  experimented  without  your 
help." 

"  I  hardly  think  that's  so.  There  are  dealers  in 
Winnipeg  and  Toronto  who  would  be  glad  to  sell  them 
the  machines.  If  three  or  four  combined,  they  could 
keep  an  engine  busy  and  the  cost  wouldn't  be  pro- 
hibitive." 

"  Our  people  are  not  mechanics,"  Mowbray  said 
haughtily. 

"  I'm  not  sure  that's  a  matter  for  congratulation," 
Harding  answered  with  a  smile.  "  But  I  never  drove 
a  steam-plow  until  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  there  seems 
to  be  no  reason  why  your  friends  shouldn't  learn.  You 
don't  claim  that  they're  less  intelligent  than  I  am." 

"  Your  talents  run  in  this  direction,"  Mowbray  re- 
torted with  a  polished  sneer. 

"  In  a  way,  that's  fortunate.  When  you're  farming 
for  a  profit,  you  want  to  be  able  to  do  a  little  of  every- 
thing. Some  of  the  Allen  wood  boys  are  pretty  good 


A  BOLD  SCHEME  159 

horse-breakers,  and  you  approve ; .  why  managing  an 
engine  should  be  objectionable  isn't  very  plain." 

"  It  is  not  my  intention  to  argue  these  matters  with 
you." 

"  Then  what  is  it  you  want  me  to  do?  " 

"  To  be  content  with  using  these  machines  on  your 
own  land.  I  must  ask  you  to  leave  Allenwood  alone." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  ask  too  much,"  Harding  replied. 
"  I  can't  break  off  the  arrangements  now  without  a 
loss  to  your  friends  and  myself,  and  I  see  no  reason 
why  I  should  do  so." 

"  Do  you  consider  it  gentlemanly  conduct  to  prompt 
men  who  acknowledge  me  as  their  leader  to  thwart  my 
wishes  ?  " 

"  Hardly  so.  Where  you  have  a  clear  right  to  for- 
bid anything  that  might  be  hurtful  to  the  settlement, 
I'd  be  sorry  to  interfere." 

Mowbray's  eyes  glinted. 

"  Do  you  presume  to  judge  between  my  people  and 
me?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  Harding  answered  with  good  humor. 
"  That's  not  my  business ;  but  I  reserve  the  right  to  do 
what's  likely  to  pay  me,  and  to  make  friends  with  whom 
I  please,  whether  they  belong  to  Allenwood  or  not." 

Mowbray  was  silent  a  moment,  looking  down  at  him 
with  a  frown. 

"  Then  there's  nothing  more  to  be  said.  Your  only 
standard  seems  to  be  what  is  profitable." 

Mowbray  rode  away,  and  Devine  laughed. 

"  Guess  the  Colonel  isn't  used  to  back  talk,  Craig. 
If  he  wasn't  quite  so  high-toned,  he'd  go  home  and 
throw  things  about.  What  he  wants  is  somebody  to 
stand  right  up  to  him.  You'll  have  him  plumb  up 


160        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

against  you  right  along;  where  you  look  at  a  thing  one 
way,  he  looks  at  it  another.  It's  clean  impossible  that 
you  should  agree." 

"  I'm  afraid  that's  so,"  said  Harding.  "  And  now 
we'll  make  a  start  again." 

The  ribbed  wheels  bit  the  clods,  and  the  engine 
lurched  clumsily  across  the  furrows,  with  the  harrows 
clattering  as  they  tore  through  the  tangled  grass  roots 
and  scattered  the  dry  soil.  Harding  was  violently 
shaken,  and  Devine  half  smothered  by  the  dust  that 
followed  them  across  the  breaking.  It  was  not  a 
dainty  task,  and  the  machine  was  far  from  picturesque, 
but  they  were  doing  better  work  than  the  finest  horses 
at  Allenwood  were  capable  of.  The  sun  grew  steadily 
hotter,  the  lower  half  of  Harding's  body  was  scorched 
by  the  furnace,  and  the  perspiration  dripped  from  his 
forehead  upon  his  greasy  overalls,  but  he  held  on  until 
noon,  with  the  steam  gradually  going  down.  The 
boiler  was  of  the  water-tube  type  and  the  water  about 
Allenwood  was  alkaline. 

"  She  must  hold  up  until  supper,  and  I'll  try  to  wash 
her  out  afterward,"  he  said. 

"  You  were  at  it  half  last  night,"  Devine  objected. 

"  That's  the  penalty  for  using  new  tools.  They  have 
their  tricks,  and  you've  got  to  learn  them.  I  don't 
find  you  get  much  without  taking  trouble." 

"  I  believe  you're  fond  of  trouble,"  Devine  answered, 
laughing. 

They  went  home  together,  for  Devine  often  dined 
with  the  Hardings.  They  had  just  finished  the  meal 
of  salt  pork  and  fried  potatoes  when  there  was  a  rattle 
of  wheels.  Hester  was  putting  the  dessert  —  hot 


A  BOLD  SCHEME  161 

cakes  soaked  in  molasses  —  and  coffee  on  the  table, 
but  she  went  to  the  door. 

"  A  stranger  in  a  buggy !  "  she  announced. 

Harding  was  surprised  to  see  the  Winnipeg  land- 
agent  getting  down,  but  he  greeted  him  hospitably. 

"  Come  in  and  have  some  dinner,"  he  invited. 

Davies  entered  and  bowed  to  Hester. 

"  No,  thanks.  As  I  didn't  know  where  I'd  be  at 
noon,  I  brought  some  lunch  along.  But  if  it  won't 
trouble  Miss  Harding,  I'll  take  some  coffee." 

He  sat  down  and  the  men  lighted  their  pipes;  and 
Hester  studied  the  newcomer  as  she  removed  the  plates. 
He  was  smartly  dressed  and  had  an  alert  look,  but 
while  there  was  nothing  particular  in  his  appearance 
that  she  could  object  to,  she  was  not  prepossessed  in 
his  favor.  Davies  had  already  noticed  that  the  room 
was  of  a  type  common  to  the  prairie  homesteads.  Its 
uncovered  floor  was,  perhaps,  cleaner  than  usual  when 
plowing  was  going  on,  and  the  square  stove  was 
brightly  polished,  but  the  room  contained  no  furniture 
that  was  not  strictly  needed.  There  was  nothing  that 
suggested  luxury ;  and  comfort  did  not  seem  to  be  much 
studied.  On  the  other  hand,  he  had  noticed  outside 
signs  of  bold  enterprise  and  a  prosperity  he  had  not 
expected  to  find.  Davies  was  a  judge  of  such  matters, 
and  he  saw  that  his  host  was  a  man  of  practical  ability. 

"What  brought  you  into  our  neighborhood?" 
Harding  asked. 

Davies  smiled. 

"  I'm  always  looking  for  business,  and  I  find  it  pays 
to  keep  an  eye  on  my  customers.  Some  of  them  have 
a  trick  of  lighting  out  when  things  go  wrong,  and  leav- 


162        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

ing  a  few  rusty  implements  to  settle  their  debts.  Fi- 
nancing small  farmers  isn't  always  profitable." 

"  They  can't  take  their  land  away,"  Devine  said. 
"  I  guess  you  don't  often  lose  much  in  the  end." 

"  Land !  "  exclaimed  Davies.  "  I've  money  locked 
up  in  holdings  I  can't  sell,  and  have  to  pay  big  taxes 
on." 

"  You'll  sell  them  all  right  by  and  by,  but  of  course 
you  know  that,"  Harding  replied.  He  gave  the  land- 
agent  a  shrewd  look.  "  You  have  a  call  or  two  to 
make  at  Allenwood,  and  would  rather  get  there  in  the 
afternoon?  " 

"True!  The  boys  might  find  it  embarrassing  if  I 
showed  up  just  now.  They're  willing  to  do  business 
with  me,  and  when  they're  in  Winnipeg  they'll  take  a 
cigar  or  play  a  game  of  pool ;  but  asking  me  to  lunch 
is  a  different  matter."  He  continued  smiling,  but  Hes- 
ter, who  was  watching  him  closely,  thought  there  was 
something  sinister  in  his  amusement  as  he  added: 
"  They  stick  to  the  notions  they  brought  from  the  Old 
Country,  and  I  don't  know  that  they'll  find  them  pay." 

"  I  shouldn't  imagine  all  the  business  you'd  get  at 
Allenwood  would  have  made  a  trip  from  Winnipeg 
worth  while,"  Harding  said. 

"  That's  so,"  Davies  agreed,  as  if  eager  to  explain. 
"  I'd  a  call  in  Brandon,  and  wanted  to  look  up  some 
customers  in  the  outlying  settlements.  When  I  got  so 
far,  I  thought  I'd  come  on  and  see  how  this  country's 
opening  up.  I  notice  the  boys  are  doing  pretty  well." 

"  You  don't  mean  at  Allenwood  ?  You  haven't  been 
there  yet." 

"  No ;  this  is  my  first  trip,  and  I  expect  it  will  be  my 
last.  Is  there  much  doing  yonder?  " 


A  BOLD  SCHEME  163 

"  The  land's  all  right.  They  hauled  out  some  fine 
wheat  last  fall.  Stock's  better  than  the  usual  run,  and 
they've  the  finest  light  horses  I've  seen." 

"  That's  more  in  their  line  than  farming,"  Davies 
replied.  "  You  wouldn't  call  raising  horses  a  business 
proposition  just  now?  " 

Hester  thought  the  men  were  fencing,  trying  to  learn 
something  about  each  other's  real  opinions.  Craig 
looked  careless,  but  Hester  was  not  deceived.  She 
knew  him  well,  and  saw  that  he  was  thinking. 

"  Prices  are  certainly  low ;  but  it  strikes  me  you  had 
better  keep  out  of  Colonel  Mowbray's  way,"  Harding 
said.  "If  he  suspected  that  any  of  the  boys  had  deal- 
ings with  you,  he'd  make  trouble,  and  probably  insist 
upon  paying  you  off." 

Davies  looked  hard  at  him.  He  was  not  prepared 
to  admit  that  he  had  lent  money  at  Allenwood,  but  he 
could  not  tell  how  much  Harding  knew. 

"  One  seldom  objects  to  being  paid  a  debt.  Has 
the  Colonel  much  money  to  spare  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know;  I  can't  claim  to  be  a  friend  of  his." 

"  Well,  it  doesn't  matter,  as  I've  nothing  to  do  with 
him.  Now  that  I'm  here,  I'll  say  that  I'd  be  glad  to 
accommodate  you  and  your  partner  if  you  want  to  ex- 
tend your  operations  or  hold  on  for  better  prices  at  any 
time.  You're  putting  in  a  big  crop." 

"  Thanks ;  I  don't  think  we'll  make  a  deal,"  Devine 
drawled.  "  We  don't  farm  for  the  benefit  of  another 
man.  When  I  haul  my  wheat  to  the  elevators  I  want 
the  money  myself,  and  not  to  turn  it  over  to  somebody 
else,  who'll  leave  me  a  few  pennies  to  go  on  with." 

Davies  took  his  leave  soon  afterward,  and  Devine 
and  Harding  went  back  to  the  plow.  They  had  some 


164        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

trouble  in  keeping  steam,  and  after  a  little  the  heavy 
engine  sank  into  the  soft  soil  as  they  crossed  a  hollow 
where  the  melting  snow  had  run.  The  ribbed  wheels 
went  in  deeper  as  they  crushed  down  the  boggy  mold, 
and  ground  up  the  fence  posts  the  men  thrust  under 
them.  Before  long  they  were  embedded  to  the  axle, 
and  Harding  turned  off  the  steam. 

"  Bring  the  wagon  and  drop  me  off  a  spade  as  you 
pass/'  he  said.  "  I'll  dig  her  out  while  you  drive  to 
the  bluff  and  cut  the  biggest  poplar  logs  you  can  find." 

When  Devine  hurried  away  he  sat  down  and  lighted 
his  pipe.  Until  he  got  the  spade  there  was  nothing  to 
be  done  and  much  to  think  about.  To  begin  with, 
Davies'  visit  had  turned  his  attention  upon  a  matter 
that  had  already  occupied  his  thoughts,  and  proved 
it  worth  consideration.  The  Allenwood  homesteads 
were  the  best  in  the  country,  the  settlement  was  fortu- 
nately located,  and  its  inhabitants  were  people  of  intel- 
ligence. Their  progress  had  been  retarded  by  customs 
and  opinions  out  of  place  on  the  prairie,  but  they  might 
go  a  long  way  if  these  were  abandoned.  They  were 
farming  on  the  wrong  lines,  and  wasting  effort,  but 
Harding  did  not  think  this  would  continue.  Already 
some  among  them  were  pressing  for  a  change.  Hard- 
ing was  ready  to  work  his  big  farm  alone,  but  he 
looked  to  Allenwood  for  help  that  would  benefit  all. 

The  matter,  however,  had  a  more  important  side. 
Although  Beatrice  had  refused  him  he  did  not  despair; 
she  had  shown  that  she  did  not  regard  him  with  com- 
plete indifference.  It  was  not  his  personal  character, 
but  his  position  and  her  father's  hostility  that  stood  in 
the  way,  and  these  were  obstacles  that  might  be  over- 
come. He  could  expect  nothing  but  the  Colonel's  stern 


A  BOLD  SCHEME  165 

opposition,  and  he  must  carefully  arm  himself  for  the 
fight;  he  did  not  undervalue  the  power  of  his  antago- 
nist. 

Devine  returned  and  threw  him  down  a  spade,  and 
for  the  next  hour  Harding  worked  steadily,  digging  a 
trench  to  the  buried  wheels  and  beating  its  bottom  flat. 
When  his  comrade  came  back  they  lined  it  with  the 
logs  he  brought,  and  Harding  started  the  engine.  The 
machine  shook  and  rattled,  straining  and  panting  under 
a  full  head  of  steam,  but  the  wheels  churned  furiously 
in  the  soil  and  smashed  the  ends  of  the  logs  they  bit 
upon.  One  big  piece  shot  out  of  the  trench  and  nar- 
rowly missed  Devine,  who  fell  among  the  harrows 
when  he  jumped.  Harding  stopped  the  engine  as  his 
friend  got  up. 

"  This  won't  do,"  he  said.  "  We'll  cut  a  log  into 
short  billets." 

They  packed  some,  split  into  sections,  under  the 
wheels,  and  Harding  restarted  the  engine. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  you  can  shove  the  rest  in  as  she 
grinds  them  down." 

The  wheels  spun,  splintering  the  timber,  rising  a  few 
inches  and  sinking  again,  while  the  big  machine  shook 
and  tilted  in  danger  of  falling  over.  Harding,  stand- 
ing on  the  slippery  plates,  opened  the  throttle  wide,  and 
after  a  while  the  front  rose  to  a  threatening  height 
while  the  logs  groaned  and  cracked. 

"  Stand  clear !  "  he  cried.     "  She's  climbing  out !  " 

The  engine  straightened  itself  with  a  dangerous 
lurch,  rolled  forward,  gathering  speed,  and  ran  out  on 
to  firmer  ground.  They  had  no  further  trouble,  and 
when  dusk  settled  down  and  the  air  grew  sharp,  Hard- 
ing drew  the  fire  and  blew  the  water  out  of  the  boiler. 


166        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  After  all,  we  have  done  pretty  good  work  to-day," 
he  said.  "  I'll  come  back  and  tend  to  those  tubes  as 
soon  as  she  cools." 

They  went  home  together,  and  after  supper  was  fin- 
ished, they  sat  smoking  and  talking  in  the  kitchen.  It 
was  now  sharply  cold  outside,  but  the  small  room  was 
warm  and  cheerful  with  the  nickeled  lamp  lighted  and 
a  fire  in  the  polished  stove. 

"  The  mortgage  man  was  trying  to  play  you," 
Devine  remarked.  "  He  certainly  didn't  learn  much. 
Do  you  reckon  he  has  been  lending  money  to  the  Allen- 
wood  boys  ?  " 

"I  think  it's  very  likely." 

"  Then,  with  their  way  of  farming  and  wheat  going 
down,  they  won't  be  able  to  pay  him  off." 

"No;  and  he  doesn't  want  them  to  pay  him  off," 
Harding  answered. 

"  You  mean  he  wants  their  farms  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  he'll  probably  get  them,  unless  somebody  in- 
terferes." 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  Devine.  "  Who's  going  to  inter- 
fere? .  .  .  Now  you  have  been  thinking  of  something 
all  afternoon." 

Harding  smiled. 

"  It's  possible  I  may  see  what  I  can  do,"  he  admitted. 

"  You're  a  daisy ! "  Devine  exclaimed.  "  It 
wouldn't  surprise  me  if  you  thought  of  buying  up  the 
Canadian  Pacific.  All  the  same,  I  don't  see  where 
you're  going  to  get  the  money.  What  do  you  think, 
Hester?" 

Hester  laid  down  her  sewing. 

"  Isn't  it  too  big  a  thing,  Craig?     You  have  a  great 


A  BOLD  SCHEME  167 

deal  of  land  now,  and  even  if  you  get  a  good  harvest, 
you'd  hardly  have  money  enough  to  sow  another  crop 
and  leave  enough  to  carry  you  over  a  bad  season." 

Harding  quietly  lighted  his  pipe,  and  there  was  si- 
lence for  a  few  minutes.  His  sister  and  her  fiance 
knew  him  well  and  had  confidence  in  his  ability ;  he  had 
so  far  made  good,  but  the  boldness  of  this  last  scheme 
daunted  them. 

"  Farming  has  two  sides,"  he  said  presently.  "  You 
want  to  raise  the  best  and  biggest  crop  you  can;  and 
then  you  want  to  handle  your  money  well.  That's 
where  many  good  farmers  fail.  Bank  your  surplus 
and  you  get  market  interest,  but  nothing  for  your 
knowledge  and  experience.  The  money  ought  to  be 
put  into  new  teams  and  the  latest  machines,  and  after 
that  into  breaking  new  land.  If  you  make  a  profit  on 
two  hundred  acres,  you'll  increase  it  by  a  third  when 
you  break  a  hundred  acres  more,  not  to  mention  what 
you  save  by  working  on  a  larger  scale.  Well,  I  see 
what  could  be  done  with  a  united  Allenwood  where 
every  man  worked  jointly  with  the  rest;  but  the  settle- 
ment needs  a  head." 

"  It  has  one.  Colonel  Mowbray  is  not  likely  to  give 
up  his  place,"  Hester  answered. 

"  He  may  not  be  able  to  keep  it.  There's  another 
claimant  —  this  fellow  Davies,  and  he's  not  a  fool.  I 
can't  tell  you  yet  whether  I'll  make  a  third.  It  wants 
thinking  over." 

The  others  did  not  reply.  They  agreed  that  the  mat- 
ter demanded  careful  thought.  After  a  short  silence, 
Hester  changed  the  subject. 

"  I  saw  Mrs.  Broadwood  to-day,  and  she  told  me  that 


168        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

Miss  Mowbray  had  gone  East  for  the  summer.  As  she 
had  spoken  about  staying  at  Allenwood  all  the  year, 
Mrs.  Broadwood  was  surprised." 

Harding  betrayed  his  interest  by  an  abrupt  move- 
ment, yet  he  made  no  answer.  On  the  whole  the  news 
was  encouraging.  He  would  miss  Beatrice,  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  looked  as  if  she  had  gone  away  to 
avoid  him,  and  she  would  not  have  done  so  had  she 
been  unmoved  by  what  he  said  to  her.  He  regretted 
that  he  had  driven  her  away;  of  course  he  might  be 
mistaken,  but  there  was  hope  in  the  suspicion  he  enter- 
tained. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  after  a  minute  or  two,  "  I'll  go 
along  and  fix  that  boiler." 


CHAPTER  XV 

HARVEST    HOME 

IT  was  a  good  summer  at  Allenwood,  for  the  June 
rains  were  prolonged.  The  mornings  broke  cool 
and  breezy,  but,  as  a  rule,  at  noon  the  clouds  which 
had  sailed  eastward  singly  began  to  gather  in  compact 
banks.  Then  would  come  a  roll  of  thunder  and  a 
deluge  that  might  last  an  hour,  after  which  the  prairie 
lay  bright  in  the  sunshine  until  evening  fell.  The  grass 
rippled  across  the  waste  in  waves  of  vivid  green,  with 
flowers  tossing  beneath  the  gusts  like  wreaths  of  col- 
ored foam.  Wild  barley  raised  its  spiky  heads  along 
the  trails,  and  in  the  hollows  the  natural  hay  grew  rank 
and  tall.  No  sand  blew  from  the  bare  ridges  to  cut  the 
tender  grain,  which  shot  up  apace  and  belted  the  prairie 
with  its  darker  verdure. 

Harding  found  full  scope  for  his  energies.  He 
worked  late  and  early  in  the  fierce  July  heat.  He  had 
bought  heavy  horses  because  he  could  not  reap  by 
steam,  and  he  had  to  build  barns  and  stables  of  ship-lap 
lumber.  Then  there  was  prairie  hay  to  cut,  and  after 
stripping  the  nearer  hollows  he  must  drive  far  across 
the  plain  to  seek  grass  long  enough  in  the  sloos  where 
the  melted  snow  had  run  in  the  spring.  This  brought 
him  into  collision  with  Mowbray,  who  came  upon  him 
one  morning  driving  a  mower  through  dusty  grass 
which  the  Colonel  had  marked  down  for  his  own. 
Perhaps  what  annoyed  the  old  man  most  was  to  see 

169 


170        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

the  American  using  an  extra  horse  and  a  knife  that 
would  cut  a  wider  swath  than  any  at  Allenwood.  He 
thought  this  a  sign  of  the  grasping  spirit  of  the  times. 

Mowbray  contended  that  the  grass  was  his,  because 
it  had  long  been  cut  for  use  at  the  Grange ;  and  Harding 
replied  that,  as  the  land  was  unoccupied,  neither  had 
any  prescriptive  right  and  the  hay  could  be  harvested 
by  the  firstcomer.  When  the  Colonel  grew  angry, 
Harding  yielded  the  point  and  suggested  that  the  sloos 
be  mown  turn  about.  To  this  Mowbray  agreed  re- 
luctantly, because  he  saw  he  could  not  keep  in  front 
of  a  rival  who  had  with  perverse  unfairness  provided 
himself  with  better  implements. 

After  the  hay  was  gathered  Harding's  new  buildings 
had  to  be  roofed,  and  when  the  house  grew  insuffer- 
ably hot  Hester  baked  and  cooked  and  washed  in  a 
lean-to  shed. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  grain  was  ripening  fast,  and 
when  the  riotous  Northwest  wind  began  to  die  away 
the  oats  turned  lemon  and  silver,  and  the  wheat  bur- 
nished gold.  The  mornings  were  now  sharply  cold, 
and  as  the  green  sunset  faded  the  air  grew  wonderfully 
bracing. 

Harding  and  Devine  had  been  working  steadily  for 
fourteen  hours  a  day,  but  they  must  nerve  themselves 
for  a  last  tense  effort.  After  the  great  crop  had  been 
hauled  to  the  elevators  there  would  be  time  to  rest,  but 
until  this  was  done  the  strain  both  were  feeling  must  be 
borne.  The  new  binders  were  got  out  when  the  On- 
tario harvesters,  who  had  been  engaged  by  Harding's 
agents,  began  to  arrive,  bringing  with  them  a  Chinese 
cook.  Western  harvesters  are  generously  fed,  and 
Harding  would  not  have  his  sister  overtaxed. 


HARVEST  HOME  171 

Soon  after  he  started  his  harvest,  Beatrice  returned 
from  Toronto.  It  was  late  afternoon  when  she  drew 
near  Allenwood.  She  was  tired  with  the  long  journey, 
but  she  did  not  object  when  Lance  made  a  round  which 
would  take  them  past  Harding's  farm.  He  said  the 
longer  trail  was  smoother. 

The  sun  hung  large  and  red  on  the  horizon ;  the  air 
was  clear;  and  the  crimson  light  raked  the  great  field 
of  grain.  In  the  foreground  the  stocked  sheaves, 
standing  in  long  ranks,  cast  blue  shadows  across  the 
yellow  stubble;  farther  back  the  tall  wheat  ran,  it 
seemed,  right  across  the  plain,  shining  in  the  sunset  like 
burnished  copper.  Above  the  crimson  on  the  prairie's 
edge  the  sky  was  coldly  green. 

At  first  it  was  the  magnitude  of  the  field  and  its 
glow  of  color  that  struck  the  girl.  Harvest  scenes 
were  not  new  to  her,  and,  indeed,  she  seldom  gazed  on 
one  without  feeling  stirred;  but  she  had  never  seen  a 
harvest  like  this.  It  filled  her  with  a  sense  of  Nature's 
bounty  and  the  fruitfulness  of  the  soil,  but  as  her  eyes 
grew  accustomed  to  the  glaring  light  she  noticed  signs 
of  human  activity.  The  splendid  crop  had  not  sprung 
up  of  itself.  It  was  the  reward  of  anxious  thought 
and  sturdy  labor,  and  she  began  to  appreciate  the  bold 
confidence  of  the  man  who  had  planted  it. 

Along  the  wall  of  wheat  moved  a  row  of  machines, 
marshaled  in  regular  order  and  drawn  by  dusty  teams. 
She  could  see  by  the  raw  paint  that  most  of  them  were 
new ;  and,  leaning  back  in  her  seat,  she  listened  to  their 
rhythmic  clink.  Noting  their  even  distance,  and  the 
precision  with  which  the  sheaves  they  flung  aside  rose 
in  stocks  behind  them,  she  saw  that  there  was  nothing 
haphazard  here.  The  measured  beat  of  this  activity 


172        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

showed  the  firm  control  of  a  master  mind.  No  effort 
was  wasted :  action  had  its  destined  result ;  and  behind 
this  thought  she  had  a  half -conscious  recognition  of 
man's  working  in  harmony  with  Nature's  exact  but 
beneficent  laws.  Duly  complied  with,  they  had  covered 
the  waste  with  grain.  Glancing  across  it,  the  girl  felt 
a  curious  thrill.  The  primeval  curse  had  proved  a 
blessing;  seed-time  and  harvest  had  not  failed;  and 
here,  paid  for  by  the  sweat  of  earnest  effort,  was  an 
abundance  of  bread. 

Moved  as  she  was,  she  had  a  practical  as  well  as  an 
imaginative  mind,  and  she  noted  the  difference  between 
Harding's  and  the  Allenwood  methods.  What  he  had 
told  her  was  true :  her  friends  could  not  stand  against 
such  forces  as  he  directed. 

"  It's  worth  looking  at,"  Lance  remarked.  "  I 
wanted  you  to  see  it  because  Harding's  being  talked 
about  just  now.  I  can't  explain  how  he  has  broken  so 
much  ground  with  the  means  at  his  command,  but  it's 
a  triumph  of  organization  and  ability." 

"  I  suppose  Father  isn't  pleased  ?  " 

Lance  laughed  as  he  flicked  up  his  horses. 

'"'  That  hardly  expresses  it.  I  rather  think  he  re- 
gards our  friend's  industry  as  a  dangerous  example; 
but  he's  most  of  all  surprised.  He  fully  expected  to 
see  Harding  ruined." 

Just  then  one  of  the  binders  stopped,  and  its  driver 
raised  his  hand.  The  machines  behind  swung  round 
him  as  they  came  up  and  fell  into  line  again  while  he 
busied  himself  with  his  team.  A  few  moments  later 
he  mounted  a  big,  barebacked  Clydesdale  that  came  at 
a  clumsy  gallop  through  the  stubble  and  passed  on 
down  the  trail. 


HARVEST  HOME  173 

"  It's  Harding,"  said  Beatrice.  "  He  must  have 
run  out  of  twine." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  Lance  answered.  "  Harding's 
not  the  man  to  run  out  of  anything.  It's  more  likely 
a  bolt  has  broken,  and  he's  going  for  another;  he'll 
have  duplicates  on  hand." 

Beatrice  did  not  wish  to  appear  curious  about  their 

I  neighbor,  but  she  asked  one  or  two  cautious  questions 
as  they  drove  on. 
"  Well,"  said  Lance,  "  though  our  experiments  are 
not  exactly  popular,  several  of  us  are  trying  to  copy 
him  in  a  modest  way,  and  I'm  glad  I  let  him  do  some 
breaking  for  me  by  steam.  The  Colonel  was  dis- 
agreeable about  it,  but  he  admitted  my  right  to  do  as 
I  liked;  and  the  result  is  that  I  have  a  crop  partly 
stocked  up  that  will  make  it  easy  to  pay  Harding  off, 
and  leave  me  some  money  in  hand." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  paying  Harding  off  ? " 
Beatrice  asked  sharply. 

Lance  looked  confused. 

"  I  didn't  intend  to  mention  it  —  you'll  keep  it  to 
yourself.  I'd  got  into  a  bit  of  a  mess  shortly  before 
I  was  hurt  at  the  ravine,  and  Harding  paid  up  the 
money-lender  I'd  gone  to  in  Winnipeg.  What's  more, 
he  beat  the  fellow  down,  so  that  I  only  had  to  account 
for  what  I  actually  got." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Beatrice.  "  Now  I  understand  your 
restlessness  when  you  were  ill.  But  on  what  terms 
did  Harding  lend  you  the  money?" 

"  He  made  only  one  condition :  that  I  wouldn't 
take  another  bet  until  I  was  free  again.  Of  course,  I 
shall  insist  on  paying  him  interest.  Harding's  a  re- 
markably fine  fellow,  and  I  mean  to  stick  to  him." 


174        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

Beatrice  felt  troubled  by  the  keenness  of  her  grati- 
tude. She  was  fond  of  Lance,  but  she  knew  his  weak- 
nesses, and  she  saw  that  Harding  had  rendered  him 
a  great  service.  Moreover,  she  thought  Lance's  admi- 
ration for  the  man  was  justified.  He  had  turned  the 
lad  out  of  a  path  that  led  through  quagmires  and  set 
him  on  firm  ground ;  his  influence  would  be  for  good. 

Lance  gave  her  the  news  of  the  settlement;  and 
when  the  lights  of  the  Grange  shone  out  through  the 
creeping  dark,  everything  else  was  forgotten  in  the 
pleasure  of  reaching  home. 

Three  weeks  later,  when  the  thrasher  had  gone  and 
the  stocked  sheaves  had  vanished,  leaving  only  the 
huge  straw  wheat  bins  towering  above  the  stubble, 
Harding  drove  to  the  Grange  one  evening  with  Hester 
and  Devine.  He  had  not  entered  the  house  for  sev- 
eral months,  and  felt  diffident  about  the  visit,  but 
Lance  had  urged  him  to  come.  The  Allenwood  Har- 
vest Home  was,  he  said,  a  function  which  everybody 
in  the  neighborhood  was  expected  to  attend.  Besides, 
they  had  been  fortunate  in  getting  a  clergyman  from 
a  distant  settlement  to  take  the  service,  and  he  was 
worth  hearing. 

The  days  were  shortening  rapidly,  and  when  the 
party  reached  the  Grange  a  row  of  lamps  were  burning 
in  the  hall.  The  moose  heads  had  gone,  and  in  their 
place  sheaves  of  grain  adorned  the  walls.  Between 
the  sheaves  were  festoons  of  stiff  wheat  ears  and  feath- 
ery heads  of  oats,  warm  bronze  interspersed  with 
cadmium  and  silver,  and  garlands  of  dry,  blue  flax. 
All  had  been  arranged  with  taste,  and  the  new  flag 
that  draped  the  reading  desk  made  a  blotch  of  vivid 
crimson  among  the  harmonies  of  softer  color.  A  tall, 


HARVEST  HOME  175 

silver  lamp  behind  the  desk  threw  its  light  on  the 
ruddy  folds,  and  Harding,  glancing  at  it,  felt  a  cer- 
tain admiring  thrill.  That  symbol  was  honored  at 
Allenwood,  standing  as  it  did  for  great  traditions, 
and  peace  and  order  and  justice  had  followed  it  to 
the  West,  but  it  was  not  for  nothing  that  the  new 
country  had  quartered  the  Beaver  of  Industry  on  its 
crimson  field. 

He  was  shown  a  place  with  his  companions,  and 
Mowbray  gave  him  a  nod  of  recognition.  Harding 
felt  that  the  Colonel  had  proclaimed  a  truce  while  they 
met  for  thanksgiving.  Lance  and  several  others 
smiled  at  him  as  he  quietly  looked  about  in  search  of 
Beatrice,  whom  he  could  not  see.  The  hall  was  filled 
with  handsome,  brown-skinned  men,  and  there  was 
something  fine,  but  in  a  sense  exotic,  in  their  bearing 
and  in  the  faces  of  the  women. 

All  rose  respectfully  when  a  young  man  in  white 
surplice  and  colored  hood  came  in.  He  had  a  strong, 
clean-cut  face,  and  carried  himself  well,  but  his  man- 
ner was  quietly  reverent.  Harding  felt  that  these 
people  from  the  Old  Country  knew  how  things  should 
be  done,  and  he  had  a  curious  sense  of  kinship  with 
them.  It  was  as  if  he  were  taking  part  in  something 
familiar ;  though  this  was  the  first  Anglican  service  he 
had  attended. 

A  man  at  the  rather  battered  grand  piano  struck 
a  few  chords,  and  Harding  saw  Beatrice  when  the 
opening  hymn  began.  She  stood  a  few  yards  away, 
but  her  voice  reached  him  plainly.  It  was,  he  recog- 
nized, singularly  sweet  and  clear,  though  he  knew 
nothing  of  the  training  and  study  that  had  developed 
it.  He  could  pick  it  out  from  the  others,  and  as  he 


176        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

listened  his  lips  quivered  and  a  mistiness  gathered  in 
his  eyes.  Harding  was  not,  as  a  rule,  particularly 
imaginative  or  sensitive,  but  he  was  capable  at  times 
of  a  strange  emotional  stirring. 

"  The  sower  went  forth  sowing, 
The  seed  in  secret  slept." 

He  had  heard  it  sung  before,  and  it  had  meant  lit- 
tle to  him,  but  now  he  saw  how  true  it  was  in  a 
stern,  practical  sense. 

"  Through  weeks  of  faith  and  patience !  " 

Well,  there  was  need  of  both,  when  glaring  skies 
withheld  all  moisture  and  withering  winds  swept  the 
dead,  gray  waste.  This  year,  however,  the  prairie 
had  blossomed  under  the  genial  warmth  and  rain. 
Bounty  was  the  note  that  the  tall  green  wheat  had 
struck.  But  the  voice  he  loved  sang  on : 

"Within  an  hallowed  acre, 
He  sows  yet  other  grain." 

The  emotion  he  felt  grew  keener;  memories  awoke, 
and  a  line  from  Longfellow  ran  through  his  mind, 
"  Her  mother's  voice,  singing  in  Paradise."  He 
heard  the  hymn,  grasping  its  impressive  analogy  while 
he  thought  of  the  strong,  brave,  patient  woman  who 
had  upheld  his  easy-going  father  at  his  uncongenial 
task.  Harding  knew  now  what  he  owed  his  mother. 
He  had,  indeed,  known  it  long,  but  love  had  quickened 
all  his  senses  and  given  him  a  clearer  vision. 

When  the  music  stopped,  he  set  himself  to  listen, 
with  Beatrice's  face  seen  now  and  then  in  delicate 
profile.  He  saw  that  Psalm  and  Lesson  and  Collect 


HARVEST  HOME  177 

were  chosen  well,  and  that  the  order  of  these  people's 
prayers,  with  all  its  aids  of  taste  and  music,  was  not  a 
mere  artistic  formula.  It  was  the  embroidered  sheath 
that  held  the  shining  sword. 

Harding,  however,  was  not  the  only  one  to  feel  an 
emotional  quickening,  for  there  were  those  at  Allen- 
wood  whose  harvest  thanksgiving  was  poignant  with 
regret.  It  reminded  them  too  keenly  of  the  quiet 
English  countryside  where  autumn  mists  crept  among 
the  stubble;  of  an  ancient  church  with  stained  glass 
windows  and  memorial  brasses  to  those  who  bore  their 
name;  of  some  well-loved,  now  sleeping  beneath  the 
sod.  After  all,  they  were  exiles,  and  though  they  had 
found  a  good  country,  the  old  one  called  to  them. 

Mrs.  Mowbray's  face  was  sad,  and  her  husband, 
who  sat  beside  her,  looked  unusually  stern. 

Beatrice,  with  all  the  rich  imagery  of  harvest  be- 
fore her  eyes  and  in  her  ears,  was  thinking  of  one 
great  wheatfield,  and  of  the  man  who  had  reclaimed 
it  from  the  wilderness.  She  had  seen  him  come  in, 
and  had  noticed  that  he  looked  worn.  His  figure  was 
somewhat  fined  down  and  his  face  was  thin.  It  was 
a  strong  face  and  an  attractive  one;  the  character  it 
reflected  was  wholesome.  There  was  nothing  about 
the  prairie  man  to  suggest  the  ascetic,  yet  Beatrice 
vaguely  realized  that  strenuous  toil  and  clean  ambi- 
tion had  driven  the  grosser  passions  out  of  him. 

The  clergyman  walked  to  the  flag-draped  pulpit, 
and  Beatrice  tried  to  collect  her  wandering  thoughts. 
As  he  read  out  the  text  she  started,  for  it  seemed 
strangely  apposite. 

"He- that  soweth  little  shall  reap  little;  but  he  that  soweth 
plenteously  shall  reap  plenteously." 


178        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

She  suspected  him  of  no  desire  to  attack  the  cus- 
toms of  his  congregation,  for  he  must  be  ignorant  of 
the  line  they  took  at  Allenwood,  but  his  words  were 
edged  with  biting  truth.  At  first  he  spoke  of  the  great 
lonely  land  they  had  entered :  a  land  that  was  destined 
to  become  one  of  the  world's  granaries  and,  better 
still,  a  home  for  the  outcast  and  the  poor.  They,  the 
pioneers,  had  a  special  duty  and  a  privilege  —  to  break 
the  way  for  the  host  that  should  come  after  them; 
and  of  them  was  demanded  honest  service.  To  sow 
plenteously;  to  be  faithful  in  the  minor  things  — 
choosing  the  wheat  that  ripened  early  and  escaped 
the  frost,  filling  the  seeder  with  an  open  hand,  sparing 
no  effort,  and  practising  good  husbandry;  and  withal 
blazing  the  trail  by  marks  of  high  endeavor,  so  that 
all  who  followed  it  could  see. 

Then  he  spoke  of  the  fruitful  season  and  the  yield 
of  splendid  grain.  The  soil  had  returned  them  in  full 
measure  what  they  had  sown,  and  he  pleaded  that  of 
this  bounty  they  should  give  what  they  could  spare. 
In  the  Old  Country  which  they  loved  there  were  many 
poor,  and  now  in  time  of  stagnant  trade  the  cities 
heard  the  cry  of  hungry  children.  There  was  one  in- 
stitution which,  sowing  with  generous  recklessness, 
sent  none  away  unfed,  and  he  begged  that  they  would 
give  something  of  their  surplus. 

He  stopped,  and  Hester  looked  at  Harding  as  the 
closing  hymn  began,  showing  him  the  edge  of  a  dollar 
in  her  glove. 

"Craig,"  she  whispered,  "have  you  any  money?" 

He  pressed  three  bits  of  paper  into  her  hand,  and, 
noticing  the  figures  on  the  margin  of  one,  she  gave  him 
a  surprised  glance.  His  face  was  unusually  gentle, 


HARVEST  HOME  179 

and  there  was  a  smile  on  it.  She  made  a  sign  of  ap- 
proval and  softly  doubled  up  the  bills  as  she  joined  in 
the  singing. 

Five  minutes  later  the  congregation  went  out  into 
the  open  air,  and  Harding  heard  Mowbray  press  the 
clergyman  to  remain. 

"  I'm  sorry,  but  as  I'm  to  preach  at  Poplar  on  Sun- 
day, I  must  make  Sandhill  Lake  to-night,"  he  an- 
swered. "  In  fact,  I  must  get  away  at  once ;  there's 
no  moon  and  the  trail  is  bad." 

He  climbed  into  his  rig,  and  Harding,  knowing 
there  was  a  twenty-mile  journey  before  him  with  a 
dangerous  ford  on  the  way,  watched  him  drive  off  into 
the  dark  with  a  feeling  of  admiration.  When  he  next 
heard  about  the  man  it  was  that  he  had  been  found  in 
winter,  returning  from  a  distant  Indian  reservation, 
snow-blind  and  starving,  with  hands  and  feet  frozen. 

While  Harding  was  looking  for  Hester,  Mrs.  Mow- 
bray  came  up  to  him. 

"  You  must  stay  with  the  others  for  our  supper  and 
dance,"  she  said.  "  I  have  made  your  sister  promise. 
I  think  we  can  sink  all  differences  to-night." 

Harding  smiled. 

"  I  can't  refuse.  Somehow  I  feel  that  the  dif- 
ferences aren't  so  great  as  I  once  supposed." 

"  Perhaps  that's  true,"  Mrs.  Mowbray  answered 
thoughtfully.  "  Though  I  dare  say  you  and  my  hus- 
band must  disagree  about  the  means  you  use,  you  have, 
after  all,  a  good  deal  in  common.  One's  object  is 
the  most  important  thing." 

She  left  him  as  Kenwyne  came  up,  and  went  to 
speak  "to  one  of  her  neighbors. 

Mowbray  had  called  Beatrice  into  his  study. 


i8o       HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

"  Count  this  for  me,"  he  said,  giving  her  a  brass 
tray  filled  with  paper  currency  and  silver  coin.  "  I 
promised  I'd  send  it  to  the  bank,  and  I  may  as  well 
make  out  the  form  before  I  lock  the  money  up." 

He  went  away  to  get  a  pen,  and  on  coming  back  he 
looked  surprised  when  Beatrice  told  him  the  amount. 

"  There  must  be  a  mistake,"  he  said.  "  We  have 
never  collected  so  much  before." 

"  I've  counted  it  twice."  Beatrice  indicated  three 
bills.  "  Though  I  think  everybody  was  generous, 
these  perhaps  explain  the  difference." 

"  Consecutive  numbers  and  all  fresh ;  from  the  same 
person  obviously,"  Mowbray  said  and  put  down  the 
bills.  "  Bad  taste  on  my  part  and,  in  a  way,  a  breach 
of  confidence,  but  you  had  seen  them  and  I  was  sur- 
prised." Then  he  counted  and  sealed  up  the  money. 

The  supper  was  served  in  a  big,  wooden  barn,  which 
was  afterward  cleared  for  dancing,  and  it  was  some 
time  before  Harding  had  an  opportunity  for  speaking 
to  Beatrice.  She  could  not  avoid  him  all  the  evening, 
and  she  did  not  wish  to  do  so,  but  she  was  glad  that 
he  met  her  without  embarrassment. 

"  I've  learned  that  you  got  Lance  out  of  trouble," 
she  said  after  they  had  talked  a  while.  "  One  way 
and  another,  he's  deeply  in  your  debt." 

"Did  he  tell  you?"  Harding  asked  with  a  slight 
frown. 

"  No ;  that  is,  it  slipped  out,  and  I  took  advantage 
of  the  indiscretion."  Beatrice  looked  at  him  steadily. 
"  It  has  made  a  difference  to  the  boy ;  I  imagine  he 
was  at  a  dangerous  turning,  and  you  set  him  straight." 

"  You  must  tell  nobody  else." 

"  Do  you  always  try  to  hide  your  good  deeds  ?  " 


HARVEST  HOME  181 

"  I  can't  claim  that  they're  numerous,"  Harding 
answered  with  a  smile.  "  Anyway,  I  had  a  selfish 
motive  on  this  occasion;  you  see,  I  enjoy  beating  a 
mortgage  man." 

Beatrice  knew  the  explanation  was  inadequate,  but 
she  was  grateful  for  his  reserve.  He  was  very  gen- 
erous, as  she  had  another  proof,  for  she  knew  who 
had  given  the  three  large  bills  which  had  surprised 
her  father.  There  was,  however,  nothing  more  to  be 
said,  and  she  chatted  about  indifferent  matters  until 
she  was  called  away. 

Before  the  gathering  broke  up,  Harding  found  him- 
self seated  in  a  corner  of  the  big  hall  talking  quietly 
to  Mrs.  Mowbray.  She  was  interested  in  his  farming 
plans  and  the  changes  he  wanted  made,  and  she  lis- 
tened carefully,  noting  how  his  schemes  revealed  his 
character.  Now  and  then  she  asked  a  question,  and 
he  was  surprised  at  her  quick  understanding.  More- 
over, he  felt  that  he  had  her  sympathy,  so  far  as  she 
could  loyally  give  it.  When,  at  length,  he  went  away 
Mrs.  Mowbray  sat  alone  for  some  minutes  quietly 
thinking.  She  could  find  no  opening  for  hostile  criti- 
cism. The  honesty  of  the  man's  motives  and  his 
obvious  ability  appealed  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   BRIDGE 

THERE  had  been  rain  since  harvest,  and  the 
ground  was  soft  when  Harding  and  his  com- 
rade stood  beside  their  smoking  teams  on  the  slope  of 
the  ravine.  Pale  sunshine  streamed  down  between  the 
leafless  trees,  glistening  upon  the  pools  and  wet  wheel- 
ruts  that  marked  the  winding  trail.  The  grade  was 
steep  and  the  torn-up  surface  was  badly  adapted  for 
heavy  loads.  Harding  frowned  as  he  glanced  at  the 
double  span  of  foul-coated  horses  harnessed  to  a 
wagon  filled  with  bags  of  grain.  They  were  powerful, 
willing  animals,  and  it  jarred  on  him  to  overdrive 
them,  as  he  had  been  forced  to  do.  Besides,  except 
for  the  steep  ascent,  he  could  have  taken  his  load  to 
the  elevators  with  a  single  team. 

"  I  hate  to  abuse  good  horses,  but  we  must  get 
up,"  he  said  when  he  had  recovered  breath.  "  Watch 
out  the  wagon  doesn't  run  back  when  we  make  a 
start." 

Devine  drove  a  birch  log  behind  the  wheels  and  then 
ran  to  the  leaders'  heads  and  cracked  his  whip,  while 
Harding  called  to  the  pole-team.  For  a  few  moments 
the  battering  hoofs  churned  up  the  sloppy  trail  and 
the  wagon  groaned  and  shook,  the  horses  floundering 
and  slipping  without  moving  it.  Then  with  a  harsh 
creak  the  high  wheels  began  to  turn  and  they  slowly 
struggled  up  the  hill.  Harness  rattled,  chain  and 

182 


THE  BRIDGE  183 

clevis  rang,  the  steam  from  the  toiling  animals  rose 
in  a  thin  cloud,  and  white  smears  streaked  their  coats 
as  they  strained  at  the  collar.  The  men  were  red 
in  face  and  panting  hard,  but  as  they  fought  the 
grade  they  broke  into  breathless  shouts.  Harding  was 
sparing  of  the  whip;  but  this  was  not  a  time  to  be 
weakly  merciful,  when  the  load  might  overpower  his 
teams  and,  running  back,  drag  them  over  the  edge. 
Nor  dare  he  stop  again  and  subject  the  animals  to  the 
cruel  effort  of  restarting.  They  must  get  up  some- 
how before  their  strength  gave  out. 

Running  with  hand  upon  the  bridle,  and  splashing 
in  the  pools,  he  rushed  the  horses  at  the  last  ascent; 
and  then  threw  himself  down  with  labored  breath  in 
the  grass. 

"  This  won't  do,"  he  panted  after  a  few  moments. 
"  We'll  have  to  put  up  five  or  six  bags  less,  and  you 
can  figure  how  many  extra  loads  that  will  make  before 
we  empty  the  bins.  Then,  I  hate  to  keep  a  man  and 
team  standing  by  here  when  they  could  be  hauling 
another  load." 

"  It's  one  of  the  things  a  prairie  farmer  runs  up 
against,"  Devine  remarked. 

"  Just  so.  When  they  can't  be  put  right,  you  have 
got  to  make  the  best  of  them;  but  this  grade  can 
be  altered." 

"  It  might,"  Devine  agreed  with  a  doubtful  air. 
"  Do  you  think  you  can  persuade  the  Colonel  to  join 
you?" 

"  No ;  but  it's  my  duty  to  try.  When  you  have 
helped  Frank  up,  you  can  take  the  extra  team  and  haul 
in  the  cordwood.  I'll  be  back  from  the  railroad  about 
dark  to-morrow." 


184        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

In  the  meanwhile,  Kenwyne,  Broadwood,  and  Lance 
Mowbray  stood  among  the  trees  about  three  miles 
farther  down  the  ravine,  looking  at  the  trail  to  Allen- 
wood,  which  led  along  its  edge.  Near  it  the  ground 
fell  sharply  to  the  creek,  but  the  slope  was  regular, 
and  small  trees,  blazed  with  the  ax  at  intervals,  marked 
a  smooth  descending  line.  On  the  opposite  side,  a 
gully  offered  an  approach  to  the  prairie  at  an  easy 
gradient. 

"  We  must  have  the  bridge  here ;  but  it  isn't  a  job 
we  can  manage  without  assistance,"  said  Kenwyne. 
"  I  don't  want  to  be  disrespectful,  Lance,  but  I  hope 
your  father  enjoyed  his  lunch." 

Lance  grinned. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  did;  but  unfortunately  he 
read  the  paper  afterwards  and  the  market  report 
seemed  to  upset  him.  To  make  things  worse,  I  rashly 
mentioned  that  it  bore  out  Harding's  prognostications. 
In  consequence,  I  expect  you'll  need  all  the  tact  you've 
got." 

"  I  wish  Harding  had  a  little  more,"  Broadwood  re- 
marked. "  I  can  be  meek,  when  it's  for  the  good  of 
the  settlement,  but  our  friend's  too  blunt." 

"If  he's  blunt  to-day,  there'll  be  trouble,"  Lance 
replied  with  a  chuckle.  "  I  imagine  the  Colonel's  in 
fighting  form.  Here  he  comes !  " 

It  was  in  an  unusually  thoughtful  mood  that  Mow- 
bray  rode  toward  them.  The  steady  fall  in  the  price 
of  wheat  was  sufficient  to  cause  him  anxiety,  but  he 
had  further  grounds  for  feeling  disturbed.  There 
was  an  unsettling  influence  at  work  at  Allenwood; 
plans  were  being  mooted  which  he  thought  originated 
with  Harding;  and,  worse  than  all,  he  suspected  that 


THE  BRIDGE  185 

his  household  was  not  altogether  with  him.  Gerald 
certainly  showed  unexpected  sense  in  denouncing  the 
innovations;  but  Mowbray  had  doubts  about  Beatrice, 
who  seemed  to  be  cultivating  Miss  Harding's  acquaint- 
ance; and  even  his  wife  now  and  then  took  the  part 
of  the  offender.  Besides,  there  were,  so  to  speak,  por- 
tents of  change  in  the  air,  and  Mowbray  felt  that  he 
was  being  driven  where  he  did  not  mean  to  go.  He 
blamed  Harding  for  this,  and  thought  it  was  time  he 
put  a  stop  to  the  fellow's  encroachments.  For  all  that, 
he  greeted  the  waiting  men  pleasantly  when  he  dis- 
mounted. 

"  The  days  are  getting  colder,  but  it's  a  bracing 
afternoon,"  he  said.  "  Now,  perhaps  we'd  better 
walk  over  the  line  of  the  proposed  trail." 

They  took  him  along  the  side  of  the  ravine,  and 
Kenwyne,  stopping  now  and  then,  drew  his  attention 
to  a  plan  he  carried. 

"  We'll  need  about  forty  feet  of  log  underpinning  at 
this  point,  and  you'll  see  that  it's  provided  for,"  he 
said.  "  On  the  next  section  there's  a  good  deal  of 
soil  to  move;  I  have  an  estimate  of  the  number  of 
wagon  loads."  Farther  on  he  stopped  again.  "  From 
here  to  the  bridge  it  will  come  to  only  a  ton  for  every 
three  or  four  yards." 

Mowbray  studied  the  plan  and  some  sheets  of  fig- 
ures. 

"  You  seem  to  have  thought  the  matter  out  very 
carefully,"  he  commented. 

"  It  needed  close  attention,"  said  Broadwood. 

Mowbray  looked  at  the  men  keenly. 

"  There's  a  comprehensiveness  about  these  plans  and 
calculations  that  I  did  not  expect  from  you,"  he  said 


186        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

dryly.  "  To  tell  the  truth,  I'm  somewhat  surprised  by 
them." 

They  did  not  answer  this,  and  Kenwyne  frowned  in 
warning  as  he  saw  Lance's  amused  expression. 

"  The  trail  would  be  useful,  sir,"  Broadwood  urged. 

"I  think  so.  Do  you  feel  competent  to  make  it? 
The  scheme  is  bolder  than  anything  of  the  kind  we 
have  undertaken." 

"  We  couldn't  attempt  it  alone.  Our  idea  is  to  ask 
for  a  general  levy." 

Mowbray  nodded,  for  when  they  improved  the  roads 
at  Allenwood  the  settlers  were  called  upon  to  supply 
labor  or  money  according  to  the  size  of  their  farms. 

"  By  making  an  effort  we  might  get  the  trail  cut  and 
the  bridge  built  before  the  frost  stops  us,"  Kenwyne 
said.  "  We  couldn't  finish  the  grading,  but  the  snow 
would  give  us  a  pretty  good  surface  for  hauling  our 
wheat  over.  The  new  crossing  would  save  us  nearly 
three  miles  on  the  journey  to  the  railroad,  and  we 
ought  to  get  a  good  load  up  the  easier  incline  without 
doubling  the  teams." 

Mowbray's  suspicions  grew. 

"  We  have  not  found  the  longer  distance  an  in- 
surmountable disadvantage  so  far.  Why  should  it 
trouble  you  so  much  now?" 

"  Some  of  us  have  bigger  crops  this  year,"  Broad- 
wood  said. 

"  Do  you  think  this  justifies  your  taxing  your 
neighbors  ?  " 

"  No,"  Broadwood  answered  incautiously.  "  We 
expect  they'll  follow  our  example,  and  have  as  much 
grain  as  we  have  next  season." 

"  I  see !  "     Mowbray  frowned.     "  You  are  working 


THE  BRIDGE  187 

for  a  change.  The  system  we  have  followed  so  far 
doesn't  satisfy  you." 

"  But  you  cannot  imagine,  sir,  that  there's  any  dan- 
ger to  the  settlement  in  our  growing  better  crops." 

"  Of  course  not.  It's  the  taint  of  commercialism  I 
object  to.  However,  let  me  look  at  those  estimates 
again." 

They  had  now  nearly  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  on 
the  opposite  side  and  Mowbray,  sitting  down  on  a 
birch  log,  opened  the  papers.  The  others  looked  at 
one  another  dubiously  as  they  heard  a  beat  of  hoofs 
and  a  rattle  of  wheels. 

"  I  notice  no  allowance  for  unexpected  difficulties, 
which  are  bound  to  crop  up,"  Mowbray  presently  re- 
marked. "  The  work  will,  as  usually  happens,  prove 
harder  than  it  looks.  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  finish 
it  before  the  frost  comes." 

"  We  expect  to  get  it  done,  sir,"  Kenwyne  replied. 
"  In  fact,  we  ventured  to  ask  Mr.  Harding,  who  has 
helped  us  to  work  the  scheme  out,  to  meet  you  here. 
He  will  be  able  to  give  you  any  information." 

"Ah!" 

Looking  up,  Mowbray  saw  Harding  coming  down 
the  trail,  and  the  loaded  wagon  and  the  fine  Clydes- 
dale horses  standing  among  the  trees.  The  sight  an- 
gered him.  Harding  had  not  been  ruined  by  his  rash 
experiment,  as  Mowbray  had  honestly  believed  would 
happen.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  prospered,  and 
Mowbray  suspected  him  of  a  wish  to  flaunt  his  suc- 
cess in  the  faces  of  his  less  fortunate  neighbors.  It 
was  in  a  very  uncompromising  mood  that  he  waited 
for  him  to  speak. 

"  If  I  can  get  the  help  I  want  from  Allenwood, 


i88        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

I'll  engage  to  cut  this  trail  on  the  terms  of  the  esti- 
mates," Harding  said.  "  If  extra  labor  is  required, 
I'll  provide  it.  You  can  see  the  advantages,  Colonel 
Mowbray:  three  miles  saved  on  the  journey  to  the 
elevators,  besides  doing  away  with  the  need  for  using 
an  extra  team  on  the  grade.  You'll  save  a  dollar  or 
two  a  load;  on  a  big  crop  the  difference  will  be  strik- 
ing. The  trail  will  pay  for  itself  in  one  season." 

"  I  notice  that  you  confine  yourself  to  the  monetary 
point  of  view,"  said  Mowbray. 

"  I  think  not.  There  are  other  advantages,  but  I 
won't  speak  of  them  now;  I'd  be  glad  to  explain  any- 
thing about  the  work." 

Mowbray's  face  hardened.  The  intruding  fellow 
had  insolently  declined  to  talk  over  any  but  the  ma- 
terial benefits  to  be  expected.  It  looked  as  if  he  at- 
tached no  importance  to  his  opinions;  and  in  one 
respect  Mowbray  was  not  mistaken.  Harding  had 
ideas  of  progress,  mutual  help,  and  good  fellowship 
with  which  he  did  not  expect  the  Colonel  to  sympa- 
thize. 

"  I  do  not  propose  to  ask  any  questions,"  Mowbray 
said,  getting  up  and  giving  Kenwyne  the  plans.  "  I 
needn't  keep  you;  this  work  will  not  be  undertaken 
with  my  sanction." 

"  But  it  can't  be  undertaken  without  it !  "  Broadwood 
protested. 

"  I  agree  with  you.  On  such  matters  as  a  general 
levy  I  have  power  of  veto,  and  I  must  warn  you  that 
it  will  be  used." 

Harding  turned  away,  somewhat  red  in  face,  and 
went  back  up  the  trail.  He  recovered  his  good  hu- 


THE  BRIDGE  189 

mor,  however,  when  he  started  his  horses  and  walked 
beside  them  across  the  withered  grass.  The  prairie 
was  bright  with  sunshine,  and  the  wide  outlook  was 
cheering.  Faint  wavy  lines  of  trees  and  glistening 
ponds  checkered  the  great  plain ;  there  was  not  a  house 
or  trail  of  smoke  on  it.  It  was  all  raw  material,  ready 
for  him  and  others  to  make  good  use  of. 

Presently  a  buggy  appeared  over  a  rise,  and  Hard- 
ing felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure  as  he  recognized  the  team 
and  the  driver.  When  Beatrice  reached  him  she 
checked  the  horses. 

"  You're  going  to  the  elevators  with  your  grain  ?  " 
she  said.  "  How  is  it  you  came  by  the  Long  Bluff?  " 

"  I  went  round  by  Willow  Gulch  in  the  ravine." 

"  Then  you  went  to  meet  Kenwyne  and  Broad  wood 
where  the  new  trail  is  to  cross  ?  I've  heard  something 
about  the  matter." 

"  I  did.  And  I'm  afraid  I  offended  Colonel  Mow- 
bray." 

"  So  he  has  stopped  the  undertaking !  I  expected 
it" 

"  No,"  said  Harding,  with  a  half-humorous  air. 
"  The  trail  will  be  made,  though  I  won't  be  able  to  be- 
gin this  season." 

Beatrice  looked  thoughtful. 

"  I'm  sorry  about  this,"  she  said ;  "  it  may  cause 
more  trouble.  Why  can't  you  leave  us  alone?" 

"  I'm  afraid  I  am  meddlesome.  But  it's  hard  to 
leave  things  alone  when  you  know  they  ought  to  be 
done." 

"  That  sounds  egotistical.  Are  you  never  mis- 
taken* " 


I9o        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  Often,  but  it's  generally  when  I  get  to  planning 
what  I'd  like  to  do." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand." 

"  It  would  certainly  be  egotistical  if  I  bored  you 
with  my  crude  ideas,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

"  Never  mind  that.     I  want  to  know." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  sometimes  you  look  about  to  see 
how  you  can  alter  matters  and  what  plans  you  can 
make ;  but  when  they're  made  they  won't  always  work. 
It's  different  when  you  don't  have  to  look." 

Beatrice  had  a  dim  perception  of  what  he  meant, 
but  she  would  let  him  explain.  His  point  of  view 
interested  her ;  though  she  knew  that  she  ran  some  risk 
in  leading  him  into  confidential  talk. 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  made  it  very  clear  yet." 

"  I  meant  that  there  are  times  when  you  see  your 
work  ready  laid  out.  It's  there ;  you  didn't  plan  it  — 
you  simply  can't  mistake  it.  Then  if  you  go  straight 
ahead  and  do  the  best  you  can,  you  can't  go  wrong." 

"  But  when  you  don't  feel  sure  ?  When  you 
haven't  the  conviction  that  it  is  your  task  ?  " 

"  Then,"  he  said  quietly,  "  I  think  it's  better  to  sit 
tight  and  wait.  When  the  time  to  act  comes,  you 
certainly  will  know." 

Beatrice  pondered  this,  because  it  seemed  to  apply 
with  some  force  to  herself.  He  had  once  urged  her 
to  take  a  daring  course,  to  assert  her  freedom  at  the 
cost  of  sacrificing  much  that  she  valued.  Though  she 
had  courage,  she  had  shrunk  from  the  venture,  because 
she  had  not  the  firm  conviction  that  it  was  justified. 
She  felt  drawn  to  Harding;  indeed,  she  had  met  no 
other  man  whom  she  liked  so  well;  but  there  was 
much  against  him,  and  nothing  but  deep,  unquestion- 


THE  BRIDGE  191 

ing  love  would  warrant  her  marrying  him.  That  she 
felt  such  love  she  would  not  admit.  It  was  better  to 
take  the  advice  he  had  given  her  and  wait.  This  was 
the  easier  for  her  to  do  because  she  believed  that  he 
had  no  suspicion  of  her  real  feeling  for  him. 

"  After  all,"  she  said,  smiling,  "  your  responsibility 
ends  with  yourself.  I  don't  see  why  you  should  in- 
terfere with  other  people.  You  can  farm  your  land  as 
you  think  fit,  without  trying  to  make  us  copy  you." 

"  That  sounds  all  right;  but  when  you  come  to  think 
of  it,  you'll  see  that  neither  of  us  can  stand  alone." 

"  We  got  along  pretty  well  before  you  came." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it.  The  trouble  is  that  what  was 
best  a  few  years  ago  isn't  best  now.  I  wish  I  could 
make  your  father  realize  that." 

"  Does  it  follow  that  he's  mistaken  because  he 
doesn't  agree  with  you?  " 

Harding  laughed. 

"  If  I  were  singular  in  my  way  of  thinking,  I'd  be 
more  modest,  but  all  over  the  country  farmers  are  get- 
ting ready  for  the  change.  There's  a  big  expansion 
in  the  air,  and  your  people  can't  stand  out  against  it." 

"  Then  I  suppose  we'll  be  crushed,  and  we'll  deserve 
our  fate."  Beatrice  smiled  at  him  as  she  started  the 
horses.  "  But  at  least  it  will  not  be  from  lack  of  ad- 
vice!" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  HEAVY  BLOW 

SNOW  was  drifting  around  the  Grange  before  a 
bitter  wind  when  Mowbray  sat  in  his  study  with 
a  stern,  anxious  face.  The  light  of  the  lamp  on  his 
writing  table  fell  upon  a  black-edged  letter  that  lay 
beside  a  bundle  of  documents;  the  big  stove  in  a  cor- 
ner glowed  a  dull  red,  and  acrid  fumes  of  burning 
wood  escaped  as  the  icy  draughts  swept  in.  Mow- 
bray's  hands  and  feet  were  very  cold,  but  he  sat  mo- 
tionless, trying  to  rally  his  forces  after  a  crushing 
blow. 

The  sound  of  music  reached  him  from  the  hall, 
where  some  of  his  younger  neighbors  were  spending 
the  evening,  and  he  frowned  when  an  outbreak  of 
laughter  followed  the  close  of  a  song.  He  had  left 
his  guests  half  an  hour  before,  when  the  mounted  mail- 
carrier  had  called,  and  he  could  not  force  himself  to 
rejoin  them  yet.  He  must  have  time  to  recover  from 
the  shock  he  had  received.  Since  he  left  the  hall  he 
had  been  trying  to  think;  but  he  had  no  control  of  his 
mind  and  was  conscious  of  only  a  numbing  sense  of 
grief  and  disaster. 

He  looked  up  as  his  wife  came  in.  Her  movements 
were  generally  quiet,  and  when  she  sat  down  her 
expression  was  calm. 

192 


A  HEAVY  BLOW  193 

"  I  got  away  as  soon  as  I  could,"  she  said.  "  I  am 
afraid  you  have  had  bad  news." 

"  Very  bad.     Godfrey's  dead !  " 

Mrs.  Mowbray  started.  Godfrey  Barnett  was  her 
husband's  cousin.  He  had  been  the  managing  direc- 
tor of  an  old-established  private  bank  in  which  Mow- 
bray's  relatives  were  interested,  and  the  dividend  upon 
some  of  the  shares  formed  an  important  part  of  the 
Colonel's  income. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  Mrs.  Mowbray  said  softly. 
"  Godfrey  was  always  a  favorite  of  mine.  But  it  must 
have  been  sudden ;  you  did  not  know  that  he  was  ill." 

Her  heart  sank  as  she  saw  her  husband's  face  turn 
grim.  The  blow  had  been  heavier  than  she  thought. 

"  He  said  something  about  not  being  up  to  his  usual 
form  when  he  last  wrote,  and  Alan  alludes  to  a  cable- 
gram that  should  have  prepared  me,  but  I  never  got 
it.  No  doubt  it  was  overlooked.  He  mentions  that 
the  strain  was  almost  unbearable  —  the  crisis  at  the 
office  —  and  the  inquest." 

"  The  inquest !  " 

The  Colonel  took  up  an  English  newspaper. 

"  It's  all  here ;  Alan  says  there's  nothing  to  add. 
I've  been  trying  to  understand  it,  but  I  can't  quite 
realize  it  yet.  The  paper  and  the  letter  came  together. 
I  suppose  he  waited  a  few  days,  thinking  he  had 
cabled." 

The  Colonel  paused,  and  Mrs.  Mowbray  gave  him  a 
sympathetic  glance,  for  she  knew  what  his  forced 
calm  cost.  The  Mowbrays  were  stern  and  quiet  under 
strain. 

"Well?"  she  said. 

"  They  found  Godfrey  dead,  with  a  bottle  of  some 


194 

narcotic  beside  him.  The  doctor  gave  evidence  that 
he  had  prescribed  the  drug;  it  seems  Godfrey  couldn't 
sleep  and  his  nerves  had  gone  to  bits.  The  man  was 
obviously  tactful  and  saved  the  situation.  The  verdict 
was  that  Godfrey  had  accidentally  taken  too  large  a 
dose." 

"  Ah !     You  don't  think " 

"  I  dare  not  think  —  he  was  my  cousin."  Mowbray 
shivered  and  pulled  himself  together.  "  Now  for  the 
sequel.  You  haven't  heard  the  worst  yet,  if  one  can 
call  what  follows  worse." 

"  Don't  tell  me.     Give  me  the  paper." 

He  handed  her  the  journal  published  in  an  English 
country  town  and  she  read  the  long  account  with  a 
feeling  of  deep  pity.  It  appeared  that  when  news 
of  Godfrey's  death  spread  there  had  been  a  run  on 
the  bank.  Barnett's  business  was  for  the  most  part 
local;  and  struggling  shopkeepers,  farmers,  small  pro- 
fessional men,  and  a  number  of  the  country  gentry 
hurried  to  withdraw  their  money.  The  firstcomers 
were  paid,  but  the  bank  soon  closed  its  doors.  Then 
came  the  inquest,  and  Mrs.  Mowbray  wondered  how 
the  merciful  verdict  had  been  procured.  It  was  all 
very  harrowing,  and  when  she  looked  up  her  eyes  were 
wet. 

"  He  must  have  known ! "  she  said.  "  It  seems 
heartless  to  talk  about  the  financial  side  of  the  matter, 
but- 

"  It  must  be  talked  about,  and  it's  easier  than  the 
other.  I  think  I  know  why  the  bank  came  down,  and 
perhaps  I'm  responsible  to  some  extent.  When  one 
of  the  big  London  amalgamations  wanted  to  absorb 
Barnett's,  Godfrey  consulted  me.  I  told  him  I  wasn't 


A  HEAVY  BLOW  195 

a  business  man,  but  so  far  as  my  opinion  went  he 
ought  to  refuse." 

"Why?" 

"  Barnett's  was  a  small,  conservative  bank.  God- 
frey knew  his  customers;  he  was  their  financial  ad- 
viser and  often  their  personal  friend.  The  bank  would 
take  some  risk  to  carry  an  honest  client  over  bad  times ; 
it  was  easy  with  the  farmers  after  a  poor  harvest. 
Godfrey  could  give  and  take;  he  managed  a  respected 
firm  like  a  gentleman.  In  short,  Barnett's  was  hu- 
man, not  a  mere  money-making  machine." 

"  I  can  imagine  that,"  Mrs.  Mowbray  responded. 
"  Would  it  have  been  different  if  he  had  joined  the 
amalgamation?  " 

"  Very  different.  Barnett's  would  have  become  a 
branch  office  without  power  of  discretion.  Everything 
would  have  had  to  be  done  on  an  unchangeable  system 
—  the  last  penny  exacted;  no  mercy  shown  a  client 
who  might  fall  a  day  behind;  one's  knowledge  of  a 
customer  disregarded  in  favor  of  a  rule  about  the  se- 
curity he  could  offer.  I  warned  Godfrey  that  so  far 
as  my  influence  could  command  it,  every  vote  that  went 
with  the  family  shares  should  be  cast  against  the  deal ; 
although  the  amalgamation  had  given  him  a  plain  hint 
that  they  meant  to  secure  a  footing  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, whether  they  came  to  terms  with  Barnett's  or 
not." 

Mrs.  Mowbray  thought  his  advice  to  his  cousin  was 
characteristic  of  her  husband,  and,  in  a  wide  sense, 
she  agreed  with  him.  He  was  a  lover  of  fair  play 
and  individual  liberty;  but  the  course  Godfrey  had 
taken  •  was  nevertheless  rash.  Barnett's  was  not 
strong  enough  to  fight  a  combination  which  had  prac- 


196        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

tically  unlimited  capital.  The  struggle  had  no  doubt 
been  gallant,  but  the  kindly,  polished  gentleman  had 
been  disastrously  beaten.  What  was  worse,  Mrs. 
Mowbray  suspected  that  her  husband  was  now  leading 
a  similar  forlorn  hope  at  Allenwood. 

"  I  suppose  it  means  a  serious  loss  to  us,"  she  said. 

"  That's  certain.  Alan  has  not  had  time  to  investi- 
gate matters  yet,  but  I  gather  that  my  relatives  do  not 
mean  to  shirk  their  responsibility.  Barnett's,  of 
course,  was  limited,  but  the  name  must  be  saved  if  pos- 
sible and  the  depositors  paid.  I  will  tell  Alan  that  I 
strongly  agree  with  this." 

It  was  rash  and  perhaps  quixotic,  but  it  was  typical 
of  the  man,  and  Mrs.  Mowbray  did  not  object. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  you,"  she  said  caressingly.  "  It  will 
hit  you  very  hard." 

Mowbray's  face  grew  gentler. 

"  I  fear  the  heaviest  burden  will  fall  on  your  shoul- 
ders; we  shall  have  to  cut  down  expenses,  and  there's 

the  future Well,  I'm  thankful  you  have  your 

small  jointure.  Things  are  going  hard  against  me, 
and  I  feel  very  old." 

"  It's  unfortunate  that  my  income  is  only  a  life  in- 
terest. The  boys " 

"Gerald  must  shift  for  himself;  he  has  had  more 
than  his  share.  I  don't  think  we  need  be  anxious 
about  Lance.  The  boy  seems  to  have  a  singularly 
keen  scent  for  money." 

"But  Beatrice!" 

"  Beatrice,"  said  Mowbray,  "  must  make  a  good 
match.  It  shouldn't  be  difficult  with  her  advantages. 
And  now  I  suppose  I'd  better  go  down.  I  think  the 


A  HEAVY  BLOW  197 

effect  of  this  disaster  must  remain  a  secret  between 
us." 

He  locked  up  the  papers  and  shortly  afterward 
stood  talking  to  Brand  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  hall. 

"If  it  wouldn't  be  an  intrusion,  I'd  like  to  offer  you 
my  sympathy,  sir,"  Brand  said.  "  The  mail-carrier 
brought  me  a  letter  from  my  English  steward." 

"  Thank  you ;  it  has  been  a  shock.  Did  you  deal 
with  Barnett's?" 

"  I  understand  they  have  handled  the  estate  accounts 
for  many  years." 

"  Then  you  will  be  relieved  to  hear  that  it's  probable 
all  the  depositors  will  be  paid." 

Brand  made  a  gesture  of  expostulation;  but  Mow- 
bray's  mind  had  taken  a  sudden  turn. 

"  So  you  haven't  disposed  of  your  English  prop- 
erty !  "  he  commented. 

Brand's  glance  rested  on  Beatrice,  who  was  stand- 
ing near,  talking  to  one  of  the  younger  men.  Her 
eyes  sparkled  with  amusement  and  there  was  warm 
color  in  her  face.  Her  pose  was  light  and  graceful; 
she  seemed  filled  with  eager  gaiety,  and  Brand's  ex- 
pression hardened. 

"  No,"  he  replied  in  a  meaning  tone;  "  I  may  want 
the  place  some  day.  Perhaps  I'd  better  warn  you  that 
I  haven't  given  up  hope  yet,  in  spite  of  my  rebuff." 

"  I  wish  she'd  taken  you,"  Mowbray  said  frankly. 
"  It  would  have  been  a  relief  to  me ;  but  I  cannot  in- 
fluence her." 

Glancing  back  at  Beatrice,  Brand  was  seized  by  a 
fit  of  passion.  He  was  a  strong,  reserved  man,  who 
had  cared  little  for  women  —  he  had,  indeed,  rather 


198        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

despised  them.  Now  he  had  fallen  in  love  at  forty- 
two,  and  had  been  swept  away.  Hitherto  he  had  gen- 
erally lived  up  to  a  simple  code  of  honor;  but  restraints 
were  breaking  down.  He  would  have  the  girl,  what- 
ever it  cost  him  or  her.  He  knew  the  strength  of  his 
position.  It  might  be  necessary  to  exercise  patience, 
but  the  odds  were  on  his  side. 

"  This  is  a  matter  I  must  fight  out  for  myself," 
he  said  in  a  hard  voice.  "  And  I  mean  to  win." 

Mowbray  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  There  was 
something  new  and  overbearing  in  the  man's  expres- 
sion which  the  Colonel  resented,  but  he  supposed  he 
must  make  allowances. 

"You  have  my  good  wishes,"  he  said;  "but  you 
must  understand  that  that's  as  far  as  I  can  go." 

He  moved  away  and  soon  afterward  Brand  joined 
Beatrice. 

"  I  must  congratulate  you  on  your  cheerfulness," 
he  smiled.  ''  You  seem  to  cast  a  ray  of  brightness 
about  the  place  to-night.  It  drew  me.  Being  of  a 
cold  nature  I  felt  I'd  like  to  bask  in  the  genial 
warmth." 

Beatrice  laughed. 

"  That  sounds  stilted ;  one  doesn't  expect  such  com- 
pliments from  you." 

"  No,"  Brand  said  with  a  direct  glance.  "  I'm  old 
and  sober;  but  you  don't  know  what  I'm  capable  of 
when  I'm  stirred." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  I'm  curious.  To  tell  the  truth, 
it  costs  me  rather  an  effort  to  be  gay  to-night.  Some- 
how, there's  a  feeling  of  trouble  in  the  air." 

Brand  thought  she  had  no  knowledge  of  her  father's 
misfortune  —  it  was  unlikely  that  Mowbray  would  tell 


A  HEAVY  BLOW  199 

her ;  but  she  was  clever  enough  to  see  the  other  troubles 
that  threatened  the  Grange  in  common  with  most  of 
the  homesteads  at  Allenwood. 

"  So  you  face  it  with  a  laugh !  "  he  said.  "  It's  a 
gallant  spirit;  but  I  dare  say  the  boys  make  it  easier 
for  you.  Trouble  doesn't-  seem  to  touch  them." 

He  looked  about  the  hall,  noting  the  careless  bearing 
of  the  handsome,  light-he'arted  young  men  and  the 
three  or  four  attractive  girls.  Their  laughter  was 
gay,  their  voices  had  a  spirited  ring,  and  the  room  was 
filled  with  wanmth  and  brightness;  yet  he  felt  the 
presence  of  an  ominous  shadow.  This  afforded  him 
a  certain  gloomy  satisfaction,  the  meanness  of  which 
he  recognized.  He  knew  that  he  could  not  win  the 
girl  he  desired  by  his  personal  merits,  but  the  troubles 
he  thought  were  coming  might  give  him  his  oppor- 
tunity. 

Beatrice  was  presently  glad  of  an  excuse  for  dis- 
missing him,  and  when  the  others  had  gone  she  went 
to  her  father,  who  was  standing  moodily  by  the  hearth. 

"  You  don't  look  well  to-night,"  she  said. 

"  I'm  not  ill." 

"  Then  you're  anxious." 

"  I  must  confess  that  I  have  something  to  think 
about." 

"  I  know,"  said  Beatrice.  "  Things  look  black  just 
now.  With  the  wheat  market  falling " 

"  What  do  you  know  about  the  market  ?  "  Mowbray 
asked  in  surprise. 

"  I  read  the  newspapers  and  hear  the  boys  talk. 
They're  brave  and  take  it  carelessly,  but  one 
feels " 

Mowbray  gave  her  a  keen  glance. 


200        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"Well,  what  do  you  feel?" 

"  That  I'd  like  to  help  you  in  any  way  I  can.  So 
far,  I've  taken  all  you  have  given  me  and  done  noth- 
ing in  return." 

"  You  can  help,"  he  answered  slowly.  "  It  would 
ease  my  mind  if  you  married  Brand." 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.  "Not  that!  I'm  sorry, 
but  it's  impossible." 

He  made  a  gesture  of  resignation. 

"  Well,  I  can't  force  you." 

Beatrice  was  silent  a  moment. 

"  It's  hard  to  refuse  the  only  big  thing  you  have 
ever  asked,"  she  said  hesitatingly.  "  I  really  want  to 
help,  and  I  feel  humiliated  when  I  see  how  little  I 
can  do.  Mrs.  Broadwood  and  Hester  Harding  can 
manage  a  farm;  Broadwood  says  he  only  began  to 
make  money  after  he  married."  She  paused,  seeing 
Mowbray's  frown,  and  went  on  with  a  forced  smile: 
"  However,  I  can  at  least  cease  to  be  an  expense.  I 
have  cost  you  a  great  deal  one  way  and  another,  and 
now  you  must  give  me  nothing  more." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  may  have  to  cut  down  your  allow- 
ance," he  answered  gloomily. 

"  That's  one  thing  I  can  save  you."  She  looked 
at  him  with  diffident  eagerness.  "  I've  been  thinking 
a  good  deal  lately,  and  I  see  that  if  wheat  keeps  get- 
ting cheaper  it  may  be  serious  for  us  all.  Couldn't 
we  take  precautions?  " 

"  What  kind  of  precautions?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can't  tell  you  that  —  I  don't  know  enough 
about  farming.  But  perhaps  we  could  make  some 
changes  and  economies;  break  more  land,  for  ex- 
ample." 


A  HEAVY  BLOW  201 

"If  we  lose  on  what  we  have  broken  already,  how 
shall  we  economize  by  plowing  more?  " 

"It  sounds  logical;  but  can't  you  save  labor  and 
reduce  the  average  expense  by  working  on  a  large 
scale?" 

"  Perhaps.     But  it  needs  capital." 

"  A  few  new  horses  and  bigger  plows  wouldn't  cost 
very  much.  We  are  spending  a  good  deal  of  money 
on  other  things  that  are  not  directly  useful." 

Mowbray  looked  at  her  with  an  ironical  smile  and 
Beatrice  felt  confused.  She  remembered  that  she  had 
staunchly  defended  her  father's  conservative  attitude 
to  Harding,  and  now  she  was  persuading  him  to  aban- 
don it. 

"  This  is  a  new  line  for  you  to  take,"  he  said.  "  I 
should  like  to  know  what  has  suggested  it.  Has  Mrs. 
Broadwood  converted  you,  or  have  you  been  talking 
to  the  Americans  ?  " 

"  I  meet  Mr.  Harding  now  and  then,  and  he  gener- 
ally talks  about  farming." 

"  I  suppose  you  can't  avoid  the  fellow  altogether, 
but  politeness  is  all  that  is  required.  He  has  a  habit 
of  exaggerating  the  importance  of  things,  and  he  can 
only  look  at  them  from  his  point  of  view." 

Beatrice  felt  guilty.  Her  father  had  not  forbidden 
her  speaking  to  the  man;  he  trusted  her  to  remember 
what  was  due  to  her  station.  She  could  imagine  his 
anger  were  he  to  suspect  that  she  had  allowed  Harding 
to  make  love  to  her. 

"  Kenwyne  and  Broadwood  seem  to  agree  with 
him,"  she  urged. 

"  They're  rank  pessimists ;  you  mustn't  listen  to 
them.  "  Try  to  be  as  economical  as  you  can;  but  leave 


202        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

these  matters  alone.  You  don't  understand  them." 
She  went  to  her  room,  feeling  downcast.  She  had 
failed  to  influence  him,  but  it  was  partly  her  fault 
that  she  had  been  unable  to  do  so.  She  had  wasted 
her  time  in  idle  amusements,  and  now  she  must  take 
the  consequences.  Nobody  except  Harding  would  lis- 
ten when  she  wished  to  talk  about  things  that  mat- 
tered. She  felt  ashamed  of  her  ignorance  and  of  her 
utter  helplessness.  But  perhaps  she  might  learn;  she 
would  ask  Hester  Harding  to  teach  her. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

COVERING    HIS   TRAIL 

IT  was  bitterly  cold  in  the  log-walled  room  at  the 
back  of  the  settlement  store  where  Gerald  Mow- 
bray  sat  by  the  red-hot  stove.  His  deerskin  jacket  and 
moccasins  were  much  the  worse  for  wear,  and  his  face 
was  thin  and  darkened  by  the  glare  of  the  snow.  For 
the  past  month  he  had  been  traveling  with  a  survey 
party  through  the  rugged  forest-belt  of  Northern  On- 
tario, living  in  the  open  in  Arctic  weather,  until  the 
expedition  had  fallen  back  on  the  lonely  settlement  to 
get  fresh  supplies. 

All  round  the  rude  log-shacks,  small,  ragged  pines, 
battered  by  the  wind,  and  blackened  here  and  there 
by  fire,  rose  from  the  deep  snow  that  softened  the  harsh 
contour  of  the  rocky  wilderness.  This  is  one  of  the 
coldest  parts  of  Canada.  The  conifers  that  roll  across 
it  are  generally  too  small  for  milling,  and  its  penetra- 
tion is  remarkably  difficult,  but  a  silver  vein  accounted 
for  the  presence  of  a  few  hard-bitten  miners.  Occa- 
sionally they  ran  some  risk  of  starving  when  fresh 
snow  delayed  the  transport  of  provisions,  and  it  was 
only  at  irregular  intervals  that  a  mail  reached  them. 
An  Indian  mail-carrier  had,  however,  arrived  shortly 
before  the  survey  party,  and  Gerald  had  a  letter  in  his 
hand,  and  a  Montreal  newspaper  lay  beside  him.  The 

203 


204        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

letter  troubled  him.  He  was  thankful  to  be  left  alone 
for  a  few  minutes,  for  he  had  much  to  think  about. 

Hardship  and  fatigue  had  no  attractions  for  him, 
but  he  had  grown  tired  of  the  monotony  of  his  life  at 
the  Grange,  and  as  qualified  surveyors  were  not  plenti- 
ful in  the  wilds,  the  authorities  had  been  glad  to  obtain 
the  services  of  an  engineer  officer.  Though  he  was 
only  an  assistant,  the  pay  was  good,  and  he  had 
thought  it  wise  to  place  himself  out  of  his  creditors' 
reach.  Unfortunately,  some  of  the  more  persistent 
had  learned  where  he  had  gone,  and  the  letter  con- 
tained a  curt  demand  for  the  settlement  of  an  account. 
Gerald  could  not  pay  it,  but  the  newspaper  brought  a 
ray  of  hope.  He  had  speculated  with  part  of  the 
money  his  father  had  once  given  him  to  pay  his  debts, 
and  the  mining  shares  he  bought  had  turned  out  worth- 
less. Now,  however,  they  were  unexpectedly  going 
up;  it  seemed  that  the  company  had  at  last  tapped  a 
vein  of  promising  ore.  If  he  could  hold  out,  he  might 
be  able  to  liquidate  his  most  pressing  debts.  But  this 
creditor's  demand  was  peremptory  and  he  could  not 
see  how  he  was  to  gain  time.  He  wished  the  men 
whose  harsh  voices  reached  him  from  the  store  would 
stop  talking.  They  were  rough  choppers,  of  whose 
society  he  had  grown  very  tired;  and  the  taciturn 
surveyor  was  not  a  much  better  companion. 

The  surveyor  came  in  before  Gerald  found  a  solu- 
tion of  his  difficulties.  He  was  a  big,  gaunt  man, 
Throwing  off  his  ragged  furs  he  sat  down  in  a  broken 
chair  and  lighted  his  pipe. 

"  Thermometer's  at  minus  fifty,  but  we  must  pull 
out  at  sun-up,"  he  remarked.  "  Now,  as  I  have  to 
run  my  corner-line  as  ordered  and  the  grub  we've  been 


COVERING  HIS  TRAIL  205 

able  to  get  won't  last  long,  I  can't  take  all  the  boys  and 
hunt  for  that  belt  of  farming  land." 

"Supposititious,  isn't  it?"  Gerald  suggested. 
"  We've  seen  nothing  to  indicate  there  being  any  soil 
up  here  that  one  could  get  a  plowshare  into.  Still, 
the  authorities  have  rather  liberal  ideas  of  what  could 
be  called  cultivatable  land." 

"  That's  so,"  the  surveyor  agreed.  "  Where  I  was 
raised  they  used  to  say  that  a  bushman  can  get  a  crop 
wherever  he  can  fire  the  seed  among  the  rocks  with  a 
shotgun.  Anyway,  the  breeds  and  the  Indians  talk 
about  a  good  strip  of  alluvial  bottom,  and  we've  got  to 
find  out  something  about  it  before  we  go  back." 

"  It  will  be  difficult  to  haul  the  stores  and  camp 
truck  if  you  divide  the  gang." 

"  Sure ;  but  here's  my  plan."  The  surveyor  opened 
a  rather  sketchy  map.  "  I  take  the  sleds  and  follow 
the  two  sides  of  the  triangle.  I'll  give  you  the  base, 
and  two  packers.  Marching  light,  by  compass,  you'll 
join  me  where  the  base-line  meets  the  side;  but  you'll 
do  no  prospecting  survey  unless  you  strike  the  alluvial 
bottom." 

"  What  about  provisions?" 

"  You  can  carry  enough  to  see  you  through ;  the 
cache  I  made  in  advance  is  within  a  few  marches  of 
where  we  meet." 

It  was  not  a  task  that  appealed  to  Gerald.  It  would 
be  necessary  to  cross  a  trackless  wilderness  which  only 
a  few  of  the  Hudson  Bay  half-breeds  knew  anything 
about.  He  must  sleep  in  the  snow  with  an  insufficient 
camp  outfit,  and  live  on  cut-down  rations,  with  the  risk 
of  starving  if  anything  delayed  him,  because  the 
weight  he  could  transport  without  a  sledge  was  limited. 


206        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

He  would  have  refused  to  undertake  the  journey 
only  that  a  half-formed  plan  flashed  into  his  mind. 

"  Suppose  I  miss  you?"  he  suggested. 

"  Well,"  said  the  surveyor  dryly,  "  that  might  mean 
trouble.  You  should  get  there  first;  but  I  can't  stop 
long  if  you're  late,  because  we've  got  to  make  the  rail- 
road while  the  grub  holds  out.  Anyhow,  I  could  leave 
you  rations  for  two  or  three  marches  in  a  cache,  and 
by  hustling  you  should  catch  up." 

Gerald  agreed  to  this,  and  soon  afterward  he  went 
to  sleep  on  the  floor.  It  was  early  in  the  evening,  but 
he  knew  that  the  next  eight  or  nine  days'  work  would 
try  him  hard. 

It  was  dark  when  the  storekeeper  wakened  him, 
and  after  a  hasty  breakfast  he  went  out  with  the  sur- 
veyor. Dawn  was  breaking,  and  there  was  an  ashy 
grayness  in  the  east,  but  the  sky  was  barred  with 
clouds.  The  black  pines  were  slowly  growing  into 
shape  against  the  faint  glimmer  of  the  snow.  The 
cold  was  piercing  and  Gerald  shivered  while  the  sur- 
veyor gave  him  a  few  last  directions ;  then  he  slung  his 
heavy  pack  upon  his  shoulders  and  set  off  down  the 
unpaved  street.  There  were  lights  in  the  log  shacks 
and  once  or  twice  somebody  greeted  him,  but  after  a 
few  minutes  the  settlement  faded  behind  and  he  and 
his  companions  were  alone  among  the  tangled  firs. 
No  sound  but,  the  crunch  of  snow  beneath  their  big 
shoes  broke  the  heavy  silence ;  the  small  trees,  slanting 
drunkenly,  were  dim  and  indistinct,  and  the  solitude 
was  impressive. 

Gerald's  lips  were  firmly  set  as  he  pushed  ahead. 
Theoretically,  his  task  was  simple ;  he  had  only  to  keep 
a  fixed  course  and  he  must  cut  the  surveyor's  line  of 


COVERING  HIS  TRAIL  207 

march,  but  in  practise  there  were  difficulties.  It  is  not 
easy  to  travel  straight  in  a  rugged  country  where  one  is 
continually  forced  aside  by  natural  obstacles;  nor  can 
one  correctly  allow  for  all  the  divergences.  This, 
however,  was  not  what  troubled  Gerald,  for  the  plan 
he  had  worked  out  since  the  previous  night  did  not 
include  his  meeting  the  surveyor.  It  was  the  smallness 
of  the  quantity  of  provisions  his  party  could  transport 
that  he  was  anxious  about,  because  he  meant  to  make  a 
much  longer  march  than  his  superior  had  directed. 

His  companions  were  strong,  stolid  bushmen,  whose 
business  it  was  to  carry  the  provisions  and  camp  outfit. 
They  knew  nothing  about  trigonometry ;  but  they  were 
at  home  in  the  wilds,  and  Gerald  was  glad  the  weather 
threatened  to  prove  cloudy.  He  did  not  want  them 
to  check  his  course  by  the  sun.  Properly,  it  was  north- 
west; and  he  marched  in  that  direction  until  it  was 
unlikely  that  anybody  from  the  settlement  would  strike 
his  trail ;  then  he  headed  two  points  farther  west,  and, 
seeing  that  the  packers  made  no  remark,  presently 
diverged  another  point. 

Traveling  was  comparatively  easy  all  day.  Wind 
and  fire  had  thinned  the  bush,  cleaning  out  dead  trees 
and  undergrowth,  and  the  snow  lay  smooth  upon  the 
outcropping  rock.  Here  and  there  they  struck  a 
frozen  creek  which  offered  a  level  road,  and  when  dark 
came  they  had  made  an  excellent  march.  Gerald  was 
glad  of  this,  because  all  the  food  he  could  save  now 
would  be  badly  needed  before  the  journey  was  fin- 
ished. For  all  that,  he  felt  anxious  as  he  sat  beside  the 
camp-fire  after  his  frugal  supper. 

A  bank  of  snow  kept  off  the  stinging  wind;  there 
was,  fortunately,  no  lack  of  fuel,  and,  sitting  close  to 


208        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

the  pile  of  snapping  branches,  the  men  were  fairly 
warm;  but  the  dark  pines  were  wailing  mournfully  and 
thick  gloom  encroached  upon  the  narrow  ring  of  light. 
The  eddying  smoke  leaped  out  of  it  and  vanished  with 
startling  suddenness.  Gerald's  shoulders  ached  from 
the  weight  of  his  pack,  and  the  back  of  one  leg  was 
sore.  He  must  be  careful  of  it,  because  he  had  a  long 
way  to  go,  and  men  were  sometimes  lamed  by  snow- 
shoe  trouble. 

The  two  packers  sat,  for  the  most  part,  smoking 
silently.  Gerald  now  and  then  gave  them  a  pleasant 
word,  but  he  did  not  wish  their  relations  to  become 
friendly,  as  it  was  not  advisable  that  they  should  ask 
him  questions  about  the  march.  Indeed,  he  shrank 
from  thinking  of  it  as  he  listened  to  the  savage  wind  in 
the  pine-tops  and  glanced  at  the  surrounding  darkness. 
The  wilderness  is  daunting  in  winter,  even  to  those 
who  know  it  best;  but  Gerald  with  his  gambler's  in- 
stincts was  willing  to  take  a  risk.  If  he  went  home 
with  the  surveyor,  ruin  awaited  him. 

For  a  time  he  sat  drowsily  enjoying  the  rest  and 
warmth,  and  then,  lying  down  on  a  layer  of  spruce- 
twigs,  he  went  to  sleep.  But  the  cold  wakened  him. 
One  of  the  packers  got  up,  grumbling,  and  threw  more 
branches  on  the  fire,  and  Gerald  went  to  sleep  again. 

Starting  shortly  before  daylight,  they  were  met  by 
blinding  snow,  but  they  struggled  on  all  day  across  a 
rocky  elevation.  The  snow  clogged  their  eyelashes 
and  lashed  their  tingling  cheeks  until  the  pain  was 
nearly  unbearable;  still,  that  was  better  than  feeling 
them  sink  into  dangerous  insensibility.  They  must 
go  on  while  progress  was  possible.  The  loss  of  a  day 


COVERING  HIS  TRAIL  209 

or  two  might  prove  fatal,  and  there  was  a  chance  of 
their  getting  worse  weather. 

It  overtook  them  two  days  later  when  they  sat 
shivering  in  camp  with  the  snow  flying  past  their  heads 
and  an  icy  blizzard  snapping  rotten  branches  from 
the  buffeted  trees.  Twigs  hurtled  about  their  ears; 
the  woods  was  filled  with  a  roar  like  the  sea ;  the  smoke 
was  blinding  to  lee  of  the  fire,  and  its  heat  could 
hardly  reach  them  a  yard  to  windward.  Gerald  drank 
a  quart  of  nearly  boiling  black  tea,  but  he  could  not 
keep  warm.  There  was  no  feeling  in  his  feet,  and  his 
hands  were  too  numbed  to  button  his  ragged  coat, 
which  had  fallen  open.  When  he  tried  to  smoke,  his 
pipe  was  frozen,  and  as  he  crouched  beneath  the  snow- 
bank he  wondered  dully  whether  he  should  change  his 
plans  and  face  the  worst  his  creditors  could  do. 

By  altering  his  course  northerly  when  he  resumed 
the  march  he  might  still  strike  the  surveyor's  line,  but 
after  another  day  or  two  it  would  be  too  late.  Still, 
he  thought  of  his  father's  fury  and  the  shares  that  were 
bound  to  rise.  If  he  were  disowned,  he  must  fall  back 
upon  surveying  for  a  livelihood.  It  was  unthinkable 
that  he  should  spend  the  winter  in  the  icy  wilds,  and 
the  summer  in  portaging  canoes  over  rocky  hills  and 
dragging  the  measuring  chain  through  mosquito 
haunted  bush.  He  could  not  see  how  he  was  to  avoid 
exposure  when  Davies  claimed  his  loan;  but  some- 
thing might  turn  up,  and  he  was  sanguine  enough  to 
be  content  if  he  could  put  off  the  day  of  reckoning. 

The  blizzard  continued  the  next  morning  and  no 
one  could  leave  camp;  indeed,  Gerald  imagined  that 
death  would  have  struck  down  the  strongest  of  them  in 


210        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

an  hour.  But  the  wind  fell  at  night,  and  when  dawn 
broke  they  set  out  again  in  Arctic  frost.  One  could 
make  good  progress  in  the  calm  air,  though  the  glitter 
was  blinding  when  the  sun  climbed  the  cloudless  sky 
as  they  followed  a  winding  stream.  Then  a  lake  of- 
fered a  smooth  path,  and  they  had  made  a  good  march 
when  dark  fell. 

In  the  night  it  grew  cloudy  and  the  temperature  rose, 
and  when  they  started  at  daybreak  they  were  hindered 
by  loose,  fresh  snow.  At  noon  they  stopped  ex- 
hausted after  covering  a  few  miles;  and  the  next  day 
the  going  was  not  much  better,  for  they  were  forced 
to  flounder  through  a  tangle  of  blown-down  trees.  It 
was  only  here  and  there  that  the  pines  and  spruces 
could  find  sufficient  moisture  among  the  rocks,  and 
they  died  and  fell  across  each  other  in  a  dry  summer. 

On  the  seventh  day  after  leaving  the  settlement  the 
three  men  plodded  wearily  through  thin  forest  as  the 
gloomy  evening  closed  in.  Their  shoulders  were  sore 
from  the  pack-straps,  the  backs  of  their  legs  ached 
with  swinging  the  big  snowshoes,  and  all  were  hungry 
and  moody.  Provisions  were  getting  low,  and  they 
had  been  compelled  to  cut  down  rations.  Now  the 
cold  was  Arctic,  and  a  lowering,  steel-gray  sky  showed 
between  the  whitened  tops  of  the  trees.  The  packers 
had  been  anxiously  looking  for  blaze-marks  all  after- 
noon ;  and  Gerald,  knowing  they  would  not  find  them, 
felt  his  courage  sink.  He  was  numb  with  cold,  and 
he  dully  wondered  whether  he  had  taken  too  great  a 
risk. 

Presently  one  of  the  men,  who  had  been  searching 
some  distance  to  the  right,  joined  his  comrade.  They 
spoke  together  and  then  turned  back  to  meet  Gerald. 


COVERING  HIS  TRAIL  211 

"  Say,  boss,  isn't  it  time  we  struck  the  boys' 
tracks  ?  "  one  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Gerald,  recognizing  that  much  depended 
on  how  he  handled  the  situation.  "  We  should  have 
picked  them  up  this  morning." 

The  men  were  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  Looks  as  if  we'd  got  off  our  line,"  one  of  them 
then  said  resolutely.  "How  were  you  heading?" 

"  Northwest,  magnetic." 

"  No,  sir.     You  were  a  piece  to  the  west  of  that." 

"You  think  so?" 

The  man  laughed  harshly. 

"  Sure !  I  was  raised  among  the  timber ;  guess  I've 
broken  too  many  trails  not  to  know  where  I'm  going." 

"  Well,"  said  Gerald  in  a  confidential  tone,  "  I 
didn't  mention  it  before  because  I  didn't  want  to  make 
you  uneasy,  but  I'm  afraid  this  compass  is  unreliable. 
It  hasn't  been  swiveling  as  it  ought;  oil  frozen  on  the 
cap,  perhaps,  or  the  card  warped  against  the  glass. 
I  tried  to  adjust  it  once  or  twice,  but  my  fingers  were 
too  cold."  He  held  it  out  awkwardly  for  them  to  ex- 
amine, and  it  dropped  from  his  mittens.  Clutching  at 
it,  he  lost  his  balance  and  crushed  the  compass  beneath 
the  wooden  bow  of  his  shoe. 

Then  he  stepped  back  with  an  exclamation,  and  the 
packer,  dropping  on  his  knees,  groped  in  the  snow  until 
he  brought  out  the  compass  with  its  case  badly  bent. 

"  You've  fixed  her  for  good  this  time;  there's  an  old 
log  where  she  fell,"  he  said;  and  he  and  his  comrade 
waited  in  gloomy  silence  while  Gerald  watched  them. 

They  did  not  suspect  him :  the  thing  had  passed  for 
an  accident;  but  Gerald  felt  daunted  by  the  deadly 
cold  and  silence  of  the  bush.  His  companions'  faces 


212        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

were  indistinct  and  their  figures  had  lost  their  sharp- 
ness; they  looked  shaggy  and  scarcely  human  in  their 
ragged  skin-coats. 

One  of  the  packers  suddenly  threw  down  his  load. 

"  We're  going  to  camp  right  here  and  talk  this  thing 
out,"  he  said,  and  taking  off  his  net  shoe  began  to 
scrape  up  the  snow. 

Half  an  hour  later  they  sat  beside  a  snapping  fire, 
eating  morsels  of  salt  pork  and  flinty  bannocks  out  of 
a  frying-pan,  with  a  black  pannikin  of  tea  between 
them.  The  smoke  went  straight  up;  now  and  then  a 
mass  of  snow  fell  from  the  bending  needles  with  a 
soft  thud,  though  there  was  scarcely  a  breath  of  wind. 

"  I  reckon  we've  been  going  about  west-northwest 
since  we  left  the  settlement,"  one  of  the  men  said 
to  Gerald.  "  Where  does  that  put  you  ?  " 

"  Some  way  to  the  south  of  where  I  meant  to  be. 
Twenty  degrees  off  our  line  is  a  big  angle ;  you  can  see 
how  it  lengthens  the  base  we've  been  working  along 
while  McCarthy  makes  his  two  sides.  That  means 
we've  lost  most  of  our  advantage  in  cutting  across 
the  corner.  Then  we  were  held  up  once  or  twice,  and 
we'll  probably  be  behind  instead  of  ahead  of  him  at 
the  intersection  of  the  lines.  Tell  me  the  distances 
you  think  we  have  made." 

After  some  argument,  they  agreed  upon  them,  and 
Gerald  drew  a  rude  triangle  in  the  snow,  though  its 
base  stopped  short  of  joining  one  side. 

"  If  you're  right  about  course  and  distance,  our  posi- 
tion's somewhere  here,"  he  said,  indicating  the  end  of 
the  broken  line. 

This  placed  the  responsibility  for  any  mistake  upon 
his  companions;  but  one  of  them  had  a  suggestion. 


COVERING  HIS  TRAIL  213 

"  If  we  head  a  few  points  north,  we'll  certainly  cut 
McCarthy's  track." 

"  Yes ;  but  we'd  be  behind  him  and  he  can't  wait." 

"  Then  if  we  stick  to  the  line  we're  on,  we'll  join." 

"  If  we  run  it  far  enough,  but  we'll  have  to  go  a  long 
way  first.  It's  difficult  to  catch  a  man  who's  march- 
ing as  fast  as  you  are  when  you  have  to  converge  at 
a  small  angle  upon  his  track." 

This  was  obvious  as  they  looked  at  the  diagram. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  "  one  of  the 
packers  asked. 

Gerald  hesitated,  because  his  plan  might  daunt  them ; 
moreover  he  must  be  careful  not  to  rouse  their  suspi- 
cion. 

"  We  want  food  first  of  all,  and  we'll  have  to  sacrifice 
a  day  or  two  in  finding  the  cache.  To  do  so,  we'll  cut 
McCarthy's  line;  this  won't  be  hard  if  he's  blazed  it." 

"You'll  follow  him  after  you  find  the  grub?" 

"  No,"  said  Gerald,  "  I  don't  think  so.  He  can't 
leave  us  much,  and  we'd  probably  use  it  all  before  we 
caught  him  up.  The  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  strike 
nearly  north  for  the  Hudson  Bay  post.  We  might 
get  there  before  the  food  runs  out." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments,  and  he  waited 
for  the  others  to  speak,  for  he  had  carefully  ascer- 
tained the  position  of  the  factory  before  he  left  the 
settlement.  If  they  missed  the  remote  outpost,  or  did 
not  get  there  soon  enough,  they  could  not  escape  star- 
vation. 

"  Well,"  said  the  first  packer,  "  I  guess  that's  our 
only  plan,  but  we'll  certainly  have  to  hustle.  Better 
get  to  Asleep  now.  There'll  be  a  moon  in  the  early 
morning,  and  we'll  pull  out  then." 


214        HARDING,  OF  ALLEN  WOOD 

Gerald  made  a  sign  of  agreement.  His  companions 
had  taken  the  direction  of  affairs  into  their  own  hands, 
and  he  was  glad  to  leave  it  to  them.  It  relieved  him  of 
responsibility,  and  they  were  not  likely  to  blunder 
where  error  would  be  fatal.  When  they  reached  the 
factory  he  must  find  an  excuse  for  remaining  until 
McCarthy  arrived  at  the  settlements  and  reported  the 
party  missing.  It  would  be  mentioned  in  the  papers,  a 
relief  expedition  might  be  despatched,  and  Gerald's 
creditors  would  wait  until  the  uncertainty  about  his 
fate  was  dissipated.  He  meant  to  delay  his  reappear- 
ance as  long  as  possible;  but  he  knew  there  was  a 
possibility  of  its  never  being  made.  One  took  many 
chances  in  the  frozen  North. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   BLIZZARD 

SIX  weeks  had  passed  since  Gerald  broke  his  com- 
pass. With  head  lowered  against  the  driving 
snow,  he  plodded  slowly  across  the  plain  behind  a 
team  of  exhausted  dogs.  A  Hudson  Bay  half-breed 
lashed  the  animals,  for  the  sledge  was  running  heavily, 
and,  with  the  provisions  all  consumed,  the  party  must 
reach  shelter  before  night.  There  was  no  wood  in  the 
empty  waste,  the  men  were  savage  with  hunger,  and  a 
merciless  wind  drove  the  snow  into  their  faces. 
Though  scarcely  able  to  drag  himself  along,  Gerald 
pushed  the  back  of  the  sledge,  and  the  two  packers 
followed,  each  carrying  a  heavy  bundle  of  skins  to 
ease  the  load  upon  the  dogs.  The  white  men  had  tried 
to  persuade  their  guide  to  make  a  cache  of  his  freight, 
but  he  had  refused.  He  had  served  the  Hudson  Bay 
from  his  youth  in  the  grim  desolation  of  the  North, 
and  he  proudly  stated  that  he  had  never  lost  a  skin. 
Gerald,  finding  argument  useless,  would  have  tried  a 
bribe,  only,  unfortunately,  he  had  nothing  to  offer. 

He  had  reached  the  factory  scarcely  able  to  walk 
from  snowshoe  lameness ;  and  one  of  the  packers  had  a 
frozen  foot.  The  Scottish  agent,  who  was  short  of 
stores,  had  not  welcomed  them  effusively.  It  was, 
however,  impossible  to  turn  them  away;  he  promised 
them  shelter,  but  he  declined  to  supply  them  with  pro- 

215 


216        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

visions  to  continue  their  journey.  They  might  stay, 
he  said,  though  they  must  put  up  with  meager  fare, 
and  when  fresh  stores  arrived  from  the  railroad  he 
would  see  what  could  be  done. 

The  delay  suited  Gerald;  he  limped  contentedly 
about  the  rude  log-house  for  some  time;  but  when 
he  and  the  packer  recovered,  they  found  that  they  were 
expected  to  take  part  in  the  work  of  the  post.  When 
the  weather  permitted,  Gerald  was  despatched  long 
distances  with  a  half-breed  to  collect  skins  from  the 
Indian  trappers ;  and  when  snow-laden  gales  screamed 
about  the  log-house  and  it  might  have  been  fatal  to 
venture  out  of  sight  of  it,  he  was  employed  in  haul- 
ing cordwood  from  the  clearing. 

At  last  some  dog-teams  arrived  with  stores,  and  the 
agent,  seizing  the  opportunity  of  sending  out  a  load 
of  furs,  gave  his  guests  just  food  enough  to  carry  them 
to  the  settlements  and  let  them  go  with  a  half-breed. 
The  journey  proved  arduous,  for  during  most  of  it 
they  struggled  through  tangled  forest  filled  with  fallen 
pines,  and  when  at  length  they  reached  the  plains  an 
icy  wind  met  them  in  the  teeth.  Now,  however,  they 
were  near  the  end,  and  Gerald,  stumbling  along, 
pinched  with  the  bitter  cold,  speculated  dully  about  the 
news  awaiting  him. 

His  creditors  could  have  done  nothing  until  they 
learned  what  had  become  of  him.  That  was  some- 
thing gained ;  and  there  was  a  probability  of  his  being 
able  to  pay  them  off.  The  shares  he  owned  were  go- 
ing up;  there  would  be  developments  when  the  new 
shaft  tapped  the  main  body  of  the  ore.  The  tip  he  had 
got  from  a  safe  quarter  when  he  made  the  purchase 
was  to  be  trusted  after  all.  Mining  companies  were 


THE  BLIZZARD  217 

not  run  solely  for  the  benefit  of  outside  investors,  and 
the  directors  were  no  doubt  waiting  for  an  opportune 
moment  for  taking  the  public  into  their  confidence 
about  their  long-delayed  success.  The  last  newspaper 
Gerald  had  read,  however,  indicated  that  some  in- 
formation had  leaked  out,  and  he  hoped  that  an  an- 
nouncement which  would  send  up  the  price  had  been 
made  while  he  was  in  the  wilds. 

The  lashing  snow  gained  in  fury.  When  Gerald 
looked  up,  the  dogs  were  half  hidden  in  the  cloud  of 
swirling,  tossing  flakes.  Beyond  them  lay  a  narrow 
strip  of  livid  white,  dead  level,  unbroken  by  bush  or 
tuft  of  grass.  There  was,  however,  no  boundary  to 
this  contracted  space,  for  it  extended  before  them  as 
they  went  on,  as  it  had  done  without  a  change  since 
the  march  began  at  dawn.  Gerald  felt  that  he  was 
making  no  progress  and  was  with  pain  and  difficulty 
merely  holding  his  ground.  The  half-breed  struggled 
forward  beside  the  dogs,  white  from  head  to  foot,  but 
Gerald  could  not  see  the  packers,  and  felt  incapable 
of  looking  for  them.  Snow  filled  his  eyes  and  lashed 
his  numbed  cheeks,  his  lips  were  bleeding,  and  his 
hands  and  his  feet  felt  wooden  with  the  icy  cold. 
Lowering  his  head  against  the  blast,  he  stumbled  on, 
pushing  the  back  of  the  sledge  and  seeking  refuge 
from  bodily  suffering  in  confused  thought. 

After  all,  he  had  no  hope  of  getting  free  from  debt. 
The  most  he  could  expect  was  to  pay  off  the  men  who 
pressed  him  hardest;  but  that  would  be  enough  for  a 
time.  Gerald  could  not  face  a  crisis  boldly;  he  pre- 
ferred to  put  off  the  evil  day,  trusting  vaguely  in  his 
luck.  Looking  back,  he  saw  that  he  might  have  es- 
caped had  he  practised  some  self-denial  and  told  the 


218        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

truth  to  his  father  and  his  friends.  Instead,  he  had 
made  light  of  his  embarrassments  and  borrowed  from 
one  man  to  pay  another;  to  make  things  worse,  he 
had  gambled  and  speculated  with  part  of  the  borrowed 
sums  in  the  hope  that  success  would  enable  him  to 
meet  his  obligations.  Money  had  to  be  found,  but 
Gerald  would  not  realize  that  for  the  man  who  does 
not  possess  it,  the  only  safe  plan  is  to  work.  Some- 
times he  won,  but  more  often,  he  lost;  and  the  Winni- 
peg mortgage  broker  watched  his  futile  struggles, 
knowing  that  they  would  only  lead  him  into  worse 
difficulties. 

Then  Gerald  began  to  wonder  whether  the  half- 
breed,  who  had  nothing  to  guide  him,  could  find  the 
settlement.  It  seemed  impossible  that  he  could  steer 
a  straight  course  across  the  trackless  waste  when  he 
could  see  scarcely  fifty  yards  ahead.  They  might  have 
wandered  far  off  their  line,  though,  so  far  as  one 
could  judge,  the  savage  wind  had  blown  steadily  in 
front.  It  was  a  question  of  vital  importance ;  but  Ger- 
ald was  growing  indifferent.  His  brain  got  numb, 
and  his  body  was  losing  even  the  sense  of  pain.  The 
only  thing  he  realized  plainly  was  that  he  could  not 
keep  on  his  feet  much  longer. 

At  last,  when  it  was  getting  dark,  there  was  a  cry 
from  the  half-breed,  and  one  of  the  packers  stumbled 
past.  He  shouted  exultantly,  the  dogs  swerved  off 
their  course,  and  Gerald  felt  the  sledge  move  faster. 
The  snow  got  firm  beneath  his  feet  and  he  knew  they 
had  struck  a  trail.  It  must  lead  to  the  settlement, 
which  could  not  be  far  ahead.  Half  an  hour  later,  a 
faint  yellow  glow  appeared,  the  worn-out  dogs  broke 
into  a  run,  dim  squares  of  houses  loomed  out  of  the 


THE  BLIZZARD  219 

snow,  and  lights  blinked  here  and  there.  They  were 
obviously  moving  up  a  street,  and  when  they  stopped 
where  a  blaze  of  light  fell  upon  them  Gerald  leaned 
drunkenly  upon  the  sledge.  The  journey  was  over, 
but  he  was  scarcely  capable  of  the  effort  that  would 
take  him  out  of  the  deadly  cold. 

He  saw  the  half-breed  unharnessing  the  dogs,  and, 
pulling  himself  together,  he  struggled  up  a  few  steps, 
crossed  a  veranda  with  wooden  pillars,  and  stumbled 
into  a  glaring  room.  It  was  filled  with  tobacco  smoke 
and  the  smell  of  hot  iron,  and  its  rank  atmosphere  was 
almost  unbreathable.  Gerald  began  to  choke,  and  his 
head  swam  as  he  made  his  way  to  the  nearest  chair. 
The  place,  as  he  vaguely  realized,  was  a  hotel,  and  the 
packers  had  already  entered  because  he  heard  their 
voices  though  he  could  not  see  them.  There  was  a 
stove  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  a  group  of  men 
stood  about  it  asking  questions.  Some  one  spoke  to 
him,  but  he  did  not  understand  what  the  fellow  said. 
Reeling  across  the  room,  he  grasped  the  chair  and  fell 
into  it  heavily. 

Exhausted  as  he  was,  it  was  some  time  before  he 
recovered  from  the  shock  caused  by  the  change  of 
temperature.  Some  one  helped  him  to  throw  off  his 
furs,  which  were  getting  wet,  and  to  free  him  of  his 
big  snowshoes.  His  sensations  were  acutely  painful, 
but  his  head  was  getting  clear,  and,  after  a  while,  he 
followed  a  man  into  a  colder  room  where  food  was  set 
before  him.  He  ate  greedily ;  and  feeling  better  after- 
ward he  went  back  to  the  other  room  and  asked  for  a 
newspaper. 

He  turned  to  the  financial  reports ;  but  he  could  not 
see  the  print  well,  for  he  was  still  somewhat  dizzy 


220        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

and  the  light  was  trying.  The  figures  danced  before 
him  in  a  blur,  and  when  he  found  his  shares  men- 
tioned it  cost  him  some  trouble  to  make  out  the  price. 
Then  he  let  the  paper  drop,  and  sat  still  for  some  min- 
utes with  a  sense  of  confused  indignation.  The  shares 
had  gone  up,  but  only  a  few  points.  The  rogues  in 
the  ring  were  keeping  information  back  until  weak 
holders  were  forced  to  sell.  It  was  a  swindle  on  the 
public  and,  what  was  more,  it  meant  ruin  to  him. 
The  shares  would  be  taken  from  him  before  they  rose, 
because  he  could  not  hope  to  hide  his  return  from  his 
creditors. 

The  safe  arrival  of  his  party  would  soon  be  reported 
in  the  newspapers ;  and  to  disappear  again  would  result 
in  his  being  regarded  as  a  defaulter  and  a  statement  of 
his  debts  being  sent  to  the  Grange.  He  had  borne  all 
the  hardship  and  danger  for  nothing!  He  was  no 
nearer  escaping  from  his  troubles  than  he  had  been 
when  he  broke  his  compass  in  the  wilds. 

There  was,  however,  one  hope  left.  He  must  see 
Davies  in  Winnipeg.  The  fellow  was  clever,  and 
might  think  of  something,  particularly  as  it  was  to  his 
interest  to  keep  Gerald  on  his  feet.  He  thought  he 
could  count  on  Davies'  support  until  the  loan  on  mort- 
gage fell  due.  His  thoughts  carried  him  no  farther. 
He  was  dazed  by  fatigue  and  the  shock  of  disappoint- 
ment. 

After  vacantly  smoking  for  a  while,  Gerald  went  off 
to  bed.  His  room  was  singularly  comfortless,  but 
a  hot  iron  pipe  ran  through  it  and  it  struck  him  as 
luxurious  by  contrast  with  the  camps  in  the  snowy 
waste.  Ten  minutes  after  he  lay  down  he  was  sound 
asleep. 


THE  BLIZZARD  221 

The  snow  had  stopped  the  next  morning,  and  reach- 
ing the  railroad  after  a  long  and  very  cold  drive,  he 
arrived  in  Winnipeg  the  following  day  and  went 
straight  to  Davies'  office. 

The  broker  looked  up  with  a  curious  expression  as 
Gerald  came  in. 

"  This  is  a  surprise,"  he  said.  "  We  thought  you 
were  lost  in  the  timber  belt." 

"  It  ought  to  be  a  relief,"  Gerald  answered,  sitting 
down. 

Davies  looked  amused. 

"  Oh,  so  far  as  my  business  interests  go,  it  doesn't 
make  much  difference.  I  have  good  security  for  what 
you  owe  me." 

"  But  I  suspect  you're  not  quite  ready  to  prove  your 
claim  to  my  farm." 

For  a  few  moments  Davies  studied  Gerald's  face. 
He  wondered  how  much  he  knew  about  his  plans 
concerning  Allenwood,  and,  what  was  more  important, 
whether  he  might  try  to  thwart  them.  Young  Mow- 
bray  was  not  a  fool,  and  these  people  from  the  Old 
Country  had  a  strong  sense  of  caste;  they  stood  by 
one  another  and  were  capable  of  making  some  sacri- 
fice to  protect  their  common  interests  against  an  out- 
sider. If  Mowbray  had  such  feelings,  he  would  need 
careful  handling;  but  Davies  was  more  inclined  to 
think  him  a  degenerate  who  placed  his  own  safety 
before  any  other  consideration. 

"  I  don't  want  to  prove  it  yet.  It  will  be  time 
enough  when  the  mortgage  falls  due.  But  what  has 
this  to  do  with  things  ?  " 

"  The  trouble  is  that  you  may  not  be  able  to  wait," 
said  Gerald  coolly.  "If  you  will  read  this  letter,  you 


222        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

will  understand,  though  I'm  not  sure  it  will  be  a  sur- 
prise to  you." 

He  gave  Davies  the  letter  demanding  payment  of  his 
debt,  and  the  broker  saw  that  he  was  shrewder  than  he 
thought.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Davies  had  been  in 
communication  with  the  other  creditors. 

"  Well,"  he  remarked,  "  you  certainly  seem  to  be 
awkwardly  fixed." 

"  I  am ;  but  I  suspect  the  situation's  as  awkward  for 
you.  This  leads  me  to  think  you'll  see  the  necessity 
for  helping  me  out  of  the  hole.  If  these  fellows  come 
down  on  me,  their  first  move  will  be  to  try  to  seize 
my  land,  and  you'll  have  to  produce  your  mortgage. 
This  will  make  trouble  at  Allenwood." 

Davies  pondered.  Though  he  had  long  been  schem- 
ing for  a  hold  on  Allenwood,  his  position  was  not  very 
strong  yet.  He  had  spent  a  good  deal  of  money  over 
his  plans  and,  although  he  was  sure  of  getting  it  back, 
if  he  were  forced  into  premature  action  he  would  fail 
in  the  object  he  aimed  at.  It  might  accordingly  be 
worth  while  to  spend  a  further  sum.  On  the  other 
hand,  money  was  getting  scarce  with  him.  Wheat 
was  falling,  trade  was  slack,  and  land,  in  which  he  had 
invested  his  capital,  was  difficult  to  sell.  Still,  it  was 
undesirable  to  spoil  a  promising  scheme  for  the  sake  of 
avoiding  a  moderate  risk. 

"  I  understand  your  father's  unable  to  pay  the  debt 
for  you,"  he  said. 

"Yes;  he'd  probably  disown  me  if  he  heard  of  it. 
I  don't  expect  this  to  interest  you,  but  some  of  his 
neighbors  have  money,  and  when  they  saw  the  settle- 
ment was  threatened  they'd  raise  a  fund  to  buy  you 
out.  You  might,  of  course,  make  them  wait,  but  if 


THE  BLIZZARD  223 

they  were  ready  to  find  the  cash,  you'd  have  to  give 
up  your  mortgages  when  they  fell  due." 

"If  these  men  are  so  rich,  why  don't  you  ask  them 
to  lend  you  the  money  ?  " 

"  Because  I've  bled  them  as  much  as  they  will 
stand,  and  they'd  think  the  matter  serious  enough  to 
hold  a  council  about.  This  would  have  the  result  I've 
just  indicated.  I  think  you  see  now  that  you  had 
better  help  me  to  settle  my  most  pressing  claims." 

Davies  regarded  him  with  a  grim  smile. 

"  It  strikes  me  that  your  talents  were  wasted  in  the 
army.  You  might  have  made  your  mark  in  my  busi- 
ness if  you'd  gone  into  it  before  you  took  to  betting. 
That's  your  weak  spot.  A  gambler  never  makes 
good."  " 

"Perhaps.     But  what  about  the  loan?" 

"  Your  name  wouldn't  be  worth  five  cents  on  pa- 
per," said  Davies  dryly.  "  However,  if  you  could  get 
somebody  with  means  to  endorse  it,  I  might  be  able  to 
discount  it  for  you.  •  The  rate  would  be  high." 

"  Men  who  wouldn't  lend  me  money  would  be  shy 
of  giving  me  their  signature." 

"  That's  so ;  but  there's  the  chance  that  they  might 
not  be  called  upon  to  make  good.  You'll  have  to  per- 
suade them  that  things  are  sure  to  change  for  the  bet- 
ter in,  say,  three  months.  Can  you  do  so?  I  must 
have  a  solid  man." 

Gerald  sat  quiet  for  a  while,  with  knitted  brows. 
He  had  been  frank  with  Davies  because  frankness 
would  serve  him  best;  but  he  understood  that  the 
fellow  wanted  the  signature  of  one  of  the  Allen  wood 
farmers  because  this  would  strengthen  his  grasp  on  the 
settlement.  Gerald  saw  ruin  and  disgrace  ahead,  but 


224        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

by  taking  a  worse  risk  than  any  he  had  yet  run,  he 
might  put  off  the  disaster  for  three  months.  Procras- 
tination and  a  curious  belief  that  things  could  not 
come  to  the  very  worst  were  his  besetting  weaknesses. 
He  shrank  from  the  consequences  that  might  result; 
but  he  could  see  no  other  way  of  escape,  and  he  looked 
up  with  a  strained  expression. 

"All  right.  I  will  get  you  a  name  that  you  can 
take.  I  shall  have  to  go  to  Allenwood." 

Davies  had  been  watching  him  keenly. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said.  "  Sign  this,  and  look  in 
again  when  you  have  got  your  friend's  signature." 

Three  days  later  Gerald  was  back  in  the  broker's 
office. 

"  Can  you  negotiate  it  now  ?  "  he  asked  nervously, 
producing  the  paper. 

"  Yes,"  said  Davies.  "  The  name's  good  enough. 
I  know  Harding." 

After  deducting  a  high  rate  of  interest,  he  gave 
Gerald  the  money,  and  then  locked  the  note  away  with 
a  look  of  great  satisfaction. 

Harding's  name  was  forged,  and  Davies  knew  it. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A    SEVERE   TEST 

\T7INTER  ended  suddenly,  as  it  generally  does 
^'  on  the  plains,  and  rain  and  sunshine  melted 
the  snow  from  the  withered  grass.  Then  the  north- 
west wind  awoke,  and  rioting  across  the  wide  levels 
dried  the  spongy  sod,  while  goose  and  crane  and  duck, 
beating  their  northward  way,  sailed  down  on  tired 
wings  to  rest  a  while  among  the  sloos.  For  a  week  or 
two,  when  no  team  could  have  hauled  a  load  over  the 
boggy  trails,  Harding  was  busy  mending  harness  and 
getting  ready  his  implements.  The  machines  were 
numerous  and  expensive,  but  he  had  been  forced  to  put 
off  their  adjustment  because  it  is  risky  to  handle  cold 
iron  in  the  Canadian  frost.  He  had  been  unusually 
silent  and  preoccupied  of  late:  but  Hester,  knowing 
his  habits,  asked  no  questions.  When  he  was  ready, 
Craig  would  tell  her  what  was  in  his  mind,  and  in  the 
meantime  she  had  matters  of  her  own  to  think  about. 
All  the  work  that  could  be  done  went  forward  with 
regular  precision,  and,  in  spite  of  Harding's  reserve, 
there  was  mutual  confidence  between  the  two.  Hester 
was  quietly  happy,  but  she  was  conscious  of  some  re- 
gret. 

In  a  few  more  months  she  must  leave  her  brother's 
house  and  transfer  to  another  the  care  and  thought 
she  had  given  him.  She  knew  he  would  miss  her,  and 

225 


226        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

now  and  then  she  wondered  anxiously  whether  any 
other  woman  could  understand  and  help  him  as  she 
had  done.  Craig  had  faults  and  he  needed  indulging. 

Then,  too,  he  sometimes  gave  people  a  wrong  im- 
pression. She  had  heard  him  called  hard.  Although 
in  reality  generous  and  often  compassionate,  his  clear 
understanding  of  practical  things  made  him  impatient 
of  incompetence  and  stupidity.  He  needed  a  wider 
outlook  and  more  toleration  for  people  who  could  not 
see  what  was  luminously  plain  to  him.  Life  was  not 
such  a  simple  matter  with  clean-cut  rules  and  duties 
as  Craig  supposed.  Grasping  its  main  issues  firmly, 
he  did  not  perceive  that  they  merged  into  one  another 
through  a  fine  gradation  of  varying  tones  and  shades. 

Rather  late  one  night  Hester  sat  sewing  while 
Harding  was  busy  at  his  writing  table,  his  pipe, 
which  had  gone  out,  lying  upon  the  papers.  He  had 
left  the  homestead  before  it  was  light  that  morning  to 
set  his  steam-plow  to  work,  though  nobody  at  Allen- 
wood  had  taken  a  team  from  the  stable  yet.  Devine 
had  told  her  of  the  trouble  they  had  encountered :  how 
the  soft  soil  clogged  the  moldboards,  and  the  wheels 
sank,  and  the  coulters  crashed  against  patches  of  un- 
thawed  ground.  This,  however,  had  not  stopped 
Harding.  There  was  work  to  be  done  and  he  must 
get  about  it  in  the  best  way  he  could.  At  supper  time 
he  came  home  in  very  greasy  overalls,  looking  tired, 
but  as  soon  as  the  meal  was  finished  he  took  out  some 
papers,  and  now,  at  last,  he  laid  down  his  pen  and  sat 
with  knitted  brows  and  clenched  hand. 

"  Come  back,  Craig!  "  Hester  called  softly. 

He  started,  threw  the  papers  into  a  drawer,  and 
looked  at  his  watch. 


A  SEVERE  TEST  227 

"  I  thought  I'd  give  them  half  an  hour,  and  I've 
been  all  evening,"  he  said,  feeling  for  his  pipe.  "  Now 
we'll  have  a  talk.  I  told  Fred  to  order  all  the  dressed 
lumber  he  wanted,  and  I'd  meet  the  bill.  The  house 
he  thought  of  putting  up  wasn't  half  big  enough;  in  a 
year  or  two  he'd  have  had  to  build  again.  Then  we 
want  the  stuff  to  season,  and  there's  no  time  to  lose 
if  it's  to  be  ready  for  you  when  the  harvest's  in." 

Hester  blushed  prettily. 

"  You  have  given  us  a  good  deal  already,  Craig. 
We  would  have  been  satisfied  with  the  smaller  home- 
stead." 

"  Shucks !  "  returned  Harding.  "  I  don't  give  what 
I  can't  afford.  You  and  Fred  have  helped  to  put  me 
where  I  am,  and  I'd  have  felt  mean  if  I  hadn't  given 
you  a  good  start  off  when  I'm  going  to  spend  money 
recklessly  on  another  plan.  Now  that  all  I  need  for 
the  summer's  paid  for,  I've  been  doing  some  figuring." 

"Ah!  You  think  of  buying  some  of  the  Allen- 
wood  land  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  gravely.  "  It  will  be  a  strain,  but 
now's  the  time,  when  the  falling  markets  will  scare  off 
buyers.  I  hate  to  see  things  go  to  pieces,  and  they 
want  a  man  to  show  them  how  the  settlement  should 
be  run.  They  have  to  choose  between  me  and  the 
mortgage  broker.  It  will  cost  me  a  tough  fight  to 
beat  him,  but  I  think  I  see  my  way." 

"  But  what  about  Colonel  Mowbray  ?  " 

"  He's  the  trouble.  I  surely  don't  know  what  to  do 
with  him;  but  I  guess  he'll  have  to  be  satisfied  with 
moral  authority.  I  might  leave  him  that." 

Hester  felt  sorry  for  the  Colonel.  He  was  auto- 
cratic and  arbitrary,  his  ways  were  obsolete,  and  he 


228        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

had  no  place  in  a  land  that  was  beginning  to  throb 
with  modern  activity.  She  saw  the  pathetic  side  of 
his  position ;  and,  after  all,  the  man  was  of  a  finer  type 
than  the  feverish  money  makers.  His  ideals  were 
high,  though  his  way  of  realizing  them  was  out  of 
date. 

"  Craig,"  she  said,  "  it  may  be  better  for  Allenwood 
that  you  should  take  control,  but  you're  running  a  big 
risk,  and  somehow  your  plan  looks  rather  pitiless. 
You're  not  really  hard " 

She  paused  and  Harding  smiled. 

"  I'm  as  I  was  made,  and  to  watch  Allenwood  go- 
ing to  ruin  is  more  than  I  can  stand  for.  It  would  be 
worse  to  let  the  moneylender  sell  it  out  to  small  farm- 
ers under  a  new  mortgage  and  grind  them  down  until 
they  and  the  land  were  starved.  Broadwood  and  one 
or  two  more  will  help  me  all  they  can,  but  they  haven't 
the  money  or  the  grip  to  run  the  place  alone." 

"  And  you  feel  that  you  can  do  it.  Well,  perhaps 
you  can,  but  it  sounds  rash.  You  are  very  sure  of 
yourself,  Craig." 

"  How  can  I  explain?  "  he  said  with  a  half  amused, 
half  puzzled  air.  "  The  feeling's  not  vanity.  I  have 
a  conviction  that  this  is  my  job,  and  now  that  I  begin 
to  see  my  way,  I  have  to  put  it  through.  I'm  not  swag- 
gering about  my  abilities — there  are  smarter  men  in 
many  ways  at  Allenwood;  my  strong  point  is  this:  I 
can  see  how  things  are  going,  and  feel  the  drift  of 
forces  I  didn't  set  in  motion  and  can't  control.  All 
I  do  is  to  fall  into  line  and  let  them  carry  me  forward, 
instead  of  standing  against  the  stream.  The  world  de- 
mands a  higher  standard  of  economical  efficiency;  in 


A  SEVERE  TEST  229 

using  the  best  tools  and  the  latest  methods  I'm  obey- 
ing the  call. 

"  What  was  it  that  first  fixed  your  thoughts  on  Allen- 
wood?"  she  asked. 

"  Beatrice  Mowbray.  I'm  going  to  marry  her  if  I 
make  good." 

"  You  have  no  doubts  about  that  either  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  have  plenty.  I  know  what  I'm  up 
against ;  but  human  nature's  strongest  in  the  end.  She 
likes  me  as  a  man." 

Hester  understood  him.  She  was  to  marry  a  man 
of  her  own  station,  which  would  save  her  many  per- 
plexities, but  Craig,  respecting  no  standard  but  per- 
sonal merit,  would  have  married  above  or  beneath  him 
with  equal  boldness.  It  was  not  because  he  was  am- 
bitious, but  because  he  loved  her  that  he  had  chosen 
Beatrice  Mowbray.  Yet  Hester  was  anxious  on  his 
account. 

"  It's  a  big  risk,"  she  said.  "  The  girl  is  dainty  and 
fastidious.  There's  nothing  coarse  in  you,  but  you 
have  no  outward  polish.  Perhaps  the  tastes  you  have 
inherited  may  make  things  easier." 

"  Well,  sometimes  I  have  a  curious  feeling  about 
these  Allenwood  people.  I  seem  to  understand  them; 
I  find  myself  talking  as  they  do.  There  was  some- 
thing Kenwyne  said  the  other  night  about  an  English 
custom,  and  I  seemed  to  know  all  about  it,  though  I'd 
never  heard  of  the  thing  before." 

He  got  up  and  knocked  out  his  pipe. 

"  All  that  doesn't  matter,"  he  said  whimsically. 
"  What's  important  now  is  that  it's  late,  and  I  must 
have  steam  up  on  the  plow  by  daybreak." 


230        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

For  the  next  week  Harding  was  very  busy ;  and  then, 
coming  back  to  the  house  one  afternoon  for  some  en- 
gine-packing, he  found  Beatrice  alone  in  their  plain 
living-room.  She  noticed  the  quick  gleam  of  pleas- 
ure in  his  eyes  and  was  conscious  of  a  response  to  it, 
but  she  was  very  calm  as  she  explained  that  Hester 
had  gone  to  saddle  a  horse  on  which  she  meant  to  ride 
with  her  to  Mrs.  Broadwood's. 

"  That  should  give  us  ten  minutes,"  Harding  said. 
"  There's  something  I  once  promised  to  show  you  and 
I  may  not  have  a  better  chance." 

Unlocking  a  drawer,  he  took  out  a  small  rosewood 
box,  finely  inlaid. 

"  This  was  my  father's.  Hester  has  never  seen  it. 
I  found  it  among  his  things." 

"  It  is  beautiful." 

Harding  opened  the  box  and  handed  her  a  photo- 
graph. 

"  That  is  my  mother,"  he  said. 

Beatrice  studied  it  with  interest.  The  face  was  of 
peasant  type,  with  irregular  features  and  a  worn  look. 
Beatrice  thought  the  woman  could  not  have  been 
beautiful  and  must  have  led  a  laborious  life,  but  she 
was  struck  by  the  strength  and  patience  the  face  ex- 
pressed. 

Harding  next  took  out  a  small  Prayer-book  in  a 
finely  tooled  binding  of  faded  leather  and  gave  it  to 
her  open.  The  first  leaf  bore  a  date  and  a  line  of 
writing  in  delicate  slanted  letters :  To  Basil,  from  his 
mother. 

"  My  father's  name  was  Basil,"  Harding  explained, 
and  taking  up  another  photograph  he  placed  it  with  its 


A  SEVERE  TEST  231 

back  beside  the  inscription  in  the  book.  It  was  auto- 
graphed :  Janet  Harding. 

"  I  imagine  it  was  sent  to  him  with  the  book,  perhaps 
when  he  was  at  school,"  Harding  resumed.  "  You 
will  note  that  the  hand  is  the  same." 

This  was  obvious.  The  writing  had  a  distinctive 
character,  and  Beatrice  examined  the  faded  portrait 
carefully.  It  was  full  length,  and  showed  a  lady  in 
old-fashioned  dress  with  an  unmistakable  stamp  of 
dignity  and  elegance.  The  face  had  grown  very  faint, 
but  on  holding  it  to  the  light  she  thought  she  could 
perceive  an  elusive  likeness  to  Hester  Harding. 

"  This  lady  must  have  been  your  grandmother,"  she 
remarked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Harding.  "  I  have  another  picture 
which  seems  to  make  the  chain  complete." 

He  took  it  from  the  box  and  beckoned  Beatrice  to 
the  window  before  he  gave  it  to  her,  for  the  photo- 
graph was  very  indistinct.  Still,  the  front  of  an  Eng- 
lish country  house  built  in  the  Georgian  style  could  be 
made  out,  with  a  few  figures  on  the  broad  steps  to  the 
terrace.  In  the  center  stood  the  lady  whose  portrait 
Beatrice  had  seen,  though  she  was  recognizable  rather 
by  her  figure  and  fine  carriage  than  her  features.  She 
had  her  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  a  boy  in  Eton 
dress. 

"  That,"  said  Harding,  "  was  my  father." 

Beatrice  signified  by  a  movement  of  her  head  that 
she  had  heard,  for  she  was  strongly  interested  in  the 
back-ground  of  the  picture.  The  wide  lawn  with  its 
conventionally  cut  border  of  shrubbery  stretched  be- 
yond the  old-fashioned  house  until  it  ended  at  the  edge 


232        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

of  a  lake,  across  which  rounded  masses  of  trees  rolled 
up  the  side  of  a  hill.  All  this  was  familiar;  it  re- 
minded her  of  summer  afternoons  in  England  two  or 
three  years  ago.  Surely  she  had  walked  along  that 
terrace  then!  She  could  remember  the  gleaming 
water,  the  solid,  dark  contour  of  the  beech  wood  on  the 
hill,  and  the  calm  beauty  of  the  sunlit  landscape  that 
she  glimpsed  between  massive  scattered  oaks.  Then 
she  started  as  she  distinguished  the  tower  of  a  church 
in  the  faded  distance,  its  spires  rising  among  the  tall 
beech-trees. 

"  But  this  is  certainly  Ash  Garth ! "  she  cried. 

"  I  never  heard  its  name,"  Harding  answered 
quietly. 

Beatrice  sat  down  with  the  photograph  in  her  hand. 
Her  curiosity  was  strongly  roused,  and  she  had  a  half 
disturbing  sense  of  satisfaction. 

"  It  looks  as  if  your  father  had  lived  there,"  she  said. 

"  Yes ;  I  think  it  must  have  been  his  home." 

"  But  the  owner  of  Ash  Garth  is  Basil  Morel !  It 
is  a  beautiful  place.  You  come  down  from  the  bleak 
moorland  into  a  valley  through  which  a  river  winds, 
and  the  house  stands  among  the  beechwoods  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill." 

"  The  picture  shows  something  of  the  kind,"  agreed 
Harding,  watching  her  with  a  reserved  smile. 

Beatrice  hesitated. 

"  Perhaps  I  could  find  out  what  became  of  your 
father's  people  and  where  they  are  now." 

"  I  don't  want  to  know.  I  have  shown  you  these 
things  in  confidence;  I'd  rather  not  have  them  talked 
about." 


A  SEVERE  TEST  233 

"  But  you  must  see  what  they  might  mean  to  you !  " 
Beatrice  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

He  moved  from  the  window  and  stood  facing  her 
with  an  air  of  pride. 

"  They  mean  nothing  at  all  to  me.  My  father  was 
obviously  an  exile,  disowned  by  his  English  relatives. 
If  he  had  done  anything  to  deserve  this,  I  don't  want 
to  learn  it,  but  I  can't  think  that's  so.  It  was  more 
likely  a  family  quarrel.  Anyway,  I'm  quite  content 
to  leave  my  relatives  alone.  Besides,  I  promised  some- 
thing of  the  kind." 

He  told  her  about  the  money  he  had  received,  and 
she  listened  with  keen  interest. 

"  But  did  he  never  tell  you  anything  about  his  Eng- 
lish life?" 

"  No,"  said  Harding.  "  I'm  not  sure  that  my 
mother  knew,  though  Hester  thinks  she  meant  to  tell 
us  something  in  her  last  illness.  My  father  was  a  re- 
served man.  I  think  he  felt  his  banishment  and  it 
took  the  heart  out  of  him.  He  was  not  a  good  farmer, 
not  the  stuff  the  pioneers  are  made  of,  and  I  believe 
he  only  worked  his  land  for  my  mother's  sake,  while 
it  was  she  who  really  managed  things  until  I  grew  up. 
She  was  a  brave,  determined  woman,  and  kept  him 
on  his  feet." 

Beatrice  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  The  man 
loved  her,  and  although  she  would  not  admit  that  she 
loved  him,  it  was  satisfactory  to  feel  that  he  really 
belonged  to  her  own  rank.  This  explained  several 
traits  of  his  that  had  puzzled  her.  It  was,  however, 
unfortunate  that  he  held  such  decided  views,  and  she 
felt  impelled  to  combat  them. 


234        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  But  you  need  ask  nothing  from  the  people  except 
that  they  should  acknowledge  you,"  she  urged. 
"  Think  of  the  difference  this  would  make  to  you  and 
Hester.  It  would  give  you  standing  and  position." 

"  Hester  is  going  to  marry  a  man  who  loves  her  for 
herself,  and  the  only  position  I  value  I  have  made. 
What  would  I  gain  by  raking  up  a  painful  story? 
The  only  relatives  I'm  proud  to  claim  are  my  mother's 
in  Michigan,  and  they're  plain,  rugged  folks." 

There  was  something  in  his  attitude  that  appealed  to 
Beatrice.  He  had  no  false  ambitions;  he  was  content 
to  be  judged  on  his  own  merits  —  a  severe  test.  For 
all  that,  she  set  some  value  upon  good  birth,  and  it 
was  distasteful  to  see  that  he  denied  the  advantages  of 
his  descent.  Then  she  grew  embarrassed  as  she  recog- 
nized that  what  really  troubled  her  was  his  indifference 
to  the  opinion  of  her  relatives.  He  must  know  that  he 
had  a  means  of  disarming  her  father's  keenest  preju- 
dice, but  he  would  not  use  it. 

"  I  understand  that  Hester  knows  nothing  about 
these  portraits,"  she  said. 

"  No ;  I've  never  mentioned  them.  It  could  do  no 
good." 

"  Then  why  have  you  told  me  ?  " 

"  Well,"  he  answered  gravely,  "  I  thought  you  ought 
to  know." 

"  I  have  no  claim  upon  the  secrets  you  keep  from 
your  sister." 

Harding  was  silent,  and  Beatrice  felt  annoyed. 
After  all,  she  understood  why  he  had  told  her  and  she 
recognized  that  he  had  acted  honestly  in  doing  so. 
Still,  if  he  really  loved  her,  she  felt,  he  should  not 


A  SEVERE  TEST  235 

let  pride  stand  in  the  way  of  removing  every  obstacle 
to  get  her. 

Hester  came  in  and  announced  that  the  horses  were 
ready ;  and  soon  afterward  she  and  Beatrice  were  rid- 
ing together  across  the  prairie  while  Harding  went 
doggedly  back  to  his  work. 


CHAPTER  XXI 


AS  the  spring  advanced,  business  men  in  Winni- 
peg and  the  new  western  towns  began  to  feel  an 
increasing  financial  pressure.  Money  was  tight,  and 
the  price  of  wheat,  upon  which  the  prosperity  of  the 
country  depended,  steadily  fell.  It  was  the  beginning 
of  a  sharp  set-back,  a  characteristic  feature  of  the 
sanguine  West,  during  which  all  overdrafts  on  the 
natural  resources  of  the  prairie  must  be  met.  The 
resources  are  large,  but  their  development  is  slow, 
depending,  as  it  does,  upon  the  patient  labor  of  the 
men  who  drive  the  plow,  while  those  who  live  upon 
the  farmer  are  eager  to  get  rich. 

The  tide  of  industrial  progress  is  often  irregular. 
There  are  pauses  of  varying  length,  and  sometimes 
recoils,  when  reckless  traders  find  their  ventures 
stranded  and  in  danger  of  being  wrecked  before  the 
next  impulse  of  the  flood  can  float  them  on.  They 
borrow  and  buy  too  freely;  trafficking  produce  not 
yet  grown;  building  stores  and  offices  in  excess  of  the 
country's  needs.  A  time  comes  when  this  is  apparent, 
speculation  ceases,  credit  fails,  and  the  new  cities  must 
wait  until  expanding  agriculture  overtakes  them.  In 
the  meanwhile,  the  fulfilment  of  obligations  is  de- 
manded and,  as  often  happens,  cannot  be  made. 

Davies  suffered  among  the  rest.  He  had  foreseen 
a  set-back,  but  it  proved  more  severe  than  he  expected. 

236 


THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING         237 

He  had  bought  land  he  could  not  sell,  had  cooperated 
in  erecting  buildings  which  stood  empty,  and  had  made 
loans  to  men  unable  to  repay  them. 

One  morning  he  sat  in  his  office,  gloomily  reading  a 
newspaper  which  made  a  bold  attempt  to  deal  opti- 
mistically with  the  depressing  situation.  Among  other 
news  there  was  a  report  of  a  meeting  of  the  share- 
holders in  a  mining  company ;  and  this  Davies  studied 
with  interest.  It  was  what  is  termed  an  extraordinary 
meeting,  called  to  consider  the  course  to  be  adopted  in 
consequence  of  the  engineer's  failing  to  reach  the  ore 
after  sinking  a  costly  shaft;  and  Davies,  glancing  at 
another  column,  noted  that  the  shares  had  sharply 
fallen.  Gerald  Mowbray  had  speculated  in  this  stock, 
and  Davies  was  then  expecting  a  call  from  him. 

Instead  of  Mowbray,  Carlyon  came  in.  The  boy 
looked  anxious,  but  he  was  calm. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what  I've  come  about,"  he 
began. 

"  Yes ;  you're  behind  with  your  interest." 

Carlyon's  ease  of  manner  was  perhaps  overdone, 
but  he  hid  his  feelings  pluckily. 

"  Then,  as  I  can't  pay,  what  are  you  going  to  do? 
I  must  know  now;  when  you're  farming,  you  have  to 
look  ahead." 

"  I'm  going  to  sell  you  up  when  the  mortgage  falls 
in.  You  have  some  time  yet." 

"  Can't  you  renew  the  loan  upon  any  terms  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Davies  truthfully.  "  I  would  if  I  could. 
I  have  to  meet  my  engagements  and  money's  scarce." 

Carlyon  got  up,  turning  an  unlighted  cigar  in  nerv- 
ous fingers,  but  there  was  a  smile  in  his  eyes  that 
showed  he  could  face  ruin  with  dignity. 


238        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  Then,  if  that's  your  last  word,  I  needn't  waste  your 
time;  and  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  blame  you  for  my 
foolishness.  I  dare  say  I  can  find  a  job  as  teamster; 
it  seems  the  only  thing  that's  left." 

"  You  have  grit.  I'm  sorry  I  can't  keep  you  on  your 
feet,"  Davies  answered  with  more  feeling  than  Carl- 
yon  had  expected. 

"  Thanks.  Mowbray's  waiting  outside ;  I'll  send 
him  in." 

Davies  looked  up  when  the  door  opened  a  few  mo- 
ments later.  Gerald's  careless  manner  had  gone;  he 
showed  obvious  signs  of  strain.  Indeed,  there  was 
something  in  his  face  that  hinted  at  desperation. 
Davies  was  not  surprised  at  this.  After  a  curt  greet- 
ing he  took  up  the  newspaper. 

"  I  expect  you  have  seen  the  report  of  the  company's 
meeting." 

"  I  have,"  said  Gerald.  "  It  doesn't  leave  much  to 
the  imagination.  At  last,  the  directors  have  treated 
us  with  brutal  frankness.  I've  filled  up  my  proxy  in 
favor  of  appointing  a  committee  to  investigate." 

"  It  can't  do  much  good.  The  fellows  can  investi- 
gate until  they're  tired,  but  they  can't  find  ore  that 
does  not  exist." 

"  It  would  be  some  comfort  if  they  found  out  any- 
thing that  would  put  the  rogues  who  deluded  us  into 
jail,"  Gerald  answered  savagely. 

Davies  smiled  in  a  meaning  way. 

"  Rather  too  drastic  a  proceeding."  He  gave  the 
other  a  direct  glance.  "  People  who  play  a  crooked 
game  shouldn't  appeal  to  the  law." 

The  blood  crept  into  Gerald's  face  and  he  wondered 
with  dire  misgivings  what  the  man  meant  and  how 


THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING         239 

much  he  knew.  He  had  counted  on  a  report  from 
the  mining  engineer  that  would  send  up  the  value  of 
his  shares,  and  had  rested  on  this  his  last  hope  of 
escaping  from  a  serious  danger.  Instead,  he  had 
learned  that  the  mine  was  barren.  It  was  a  crushing 
blow,  for  he  must  find  a  large  sum  of  money  at  once. 
The  consequences  would  be  disastrous  if  he  failed. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  the  most  important  point  is  that 
my  shares  are  worth  next  to  nothing,  and  I've  very 
little  expectation  of  their  ever  going  up.  I  don't  sup- 
pose you'd  take  them  as  security  for  a  loan  at  a  quarter 
of  their  face  value?" 

"  I  would  not,"  Davies  answered  firmly. 

"  Very  well.  My  note  falls  due  in  a  few  days. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Present  it  for  payment." 

Gerald  looked  at  him  keenly,  to  see  if  he  meant  it; 
but  he  could  read  in  the  broker's  imperturbable  face 
nothing  to  lead  him  to  doubt  this.  He  tried  to  pull 
himself  together,  and  failed.  Gerald  had  not  inher- 
ited the  stern,  moral  courage  of  the  Mowbray  stock. 

"  You  can't  afford  to  let  me  drop,"  he  pleaded  in  a 
hoarse  voice.  "  As  soon  as  you  take  away  your  sup- 
port the  brutes  I've  borrowed  from  will  come  down  on 
me  like  wolves,  and,  to  protect  your  interests,  you'll 
have  to  enforce  your  mortgage  rights.  I  needn't  point 
out  that  this  will  spoil  your  plans.  You're  not  ready 
to  make  your  grab  at  Allenwood  yet." 

Davies  heard  him  unmoved.  He  was  comparing 
his  attitude  with  that  of  the  ruined  lad  he  had  just 
dismissed.  Carlyon  was,  of  course,  a  fool  who  de- 
served his  fate,  but  his  pluck  had  roused  the  money- 
lender's sympathy.  He  did  not  mean  to  let  it  make 


240        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

him  merciful,  but  he  had  some  human  feeling,  and  it 
inspired  him  with  contempt  for  Mowbray.  The  fel- 
low was  clever  enough  to  see  that  Davies'  plans  were 
directed  against  his  relatives  and  friends,  but  this  had 
not  prevented  his  falling  in  with  them  for  the  sake  of 
a  temporary  advantage.  His  pride  was  a  sham;  he 
forgot  it  when  it  threatened  to  cost  him  something. 
Moreover  he  had  not  been  straight  with  Davies  in 
several  ways.  He  had  a  rogue's  heart,  but  was  with- 
out the  rogue's  usual  nerve. 

"  I  often  have  to  change  my  plans,"  Davies  said 
calmly.  "  Just  now  I'm  short  of  money,  and  must  get 
some  in.  Anyway,  there's  no  secret  about  the  mort- 
gage; it  had  to  be  registered." 

"  Of  course;  but  I  don't  suppose  anybody  knows 
about  it,  for  all  that.  People  don't  spend  their  time 
turning  up  these  records." 

"  It  would  be  a  wise  precaution,  when  they  dealt 
with  you,"  Davies  answered  pointedly. 

Gerald  did  not  resent  the  taunt. 

"  But  you  can't  get  your  money  for  the  note,"  he 
urged.  "  It's  impossible  for  me  to  meet  it  now." 

"  Or  later,  I  guess.  Well,  I'll  have  to  fall  back  on 
the  endorser;  he's  a  solid  man." 

A  look  of  terror  sprang  into  Gerald's  face. 

"You  can't  do  that!" 

"Why  not?" 

"  Well,"  Gerald  faltered,  "  he  never  expected  he'd 
have  to  pay  the  note." 

"  That's  his  affair.  He  ought  to  have  known  you 
better." 

Gerald  roused  himself  for  a  last  effort. 

"  Renew  it  on  any  terms  you  like;  I'll  agree  to  what- 


THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING         241 

ever  you  demand.  I  have  some  influence  at  Allen- 
wood,  and  can  get  you  other  customers.  You'll  find 
it  worth  while  to  have  my  help." 

Davies  smiled  scornfully. 

"  You  can't  be  trusted.  You'd  sell  your  friends, 
and  that  means  you'd  sell  me  if  you  thought  it  would 
pay.  I'm  willing  to  take  a  risk  when  I  back  a  sport; 
but  one  can't  call  you  that.  You  have  had  your  run 
and  lost,  and  now  you  must  put  up  the  stakes."  He 
took  a  pen  from  the  rack  and  opened  a  book.  "  There 
doesn't  seem  to  be  anything  more  to  be  said.  Good- 
morning." 

Gerald  left,  with  despair  in  his  heart;  and  when  he 
had  gone  Davies  took  the  note  from  his  safe  and  ex- 
amined the  signature  on  the  back  with  a  thoughtful 
air.  After  all,  though  money  was  tight,  he  might  re- 
tain his  hold  on  Allenwood  if  he  played  his  cards 
cleverly. 

During  the  afternoon  Carlyon  and  Gerald  took  the 
westbound  train,  and  the  next  evening  Gerald  reached 
the  Grange.  There  had  been  a  hard  rain  all  day,  and 
he  was  wet  after  the  long  drive,  but  he  went  straight 
to  the  study  where  his  father  was  occupied.  It  was 
not  dark  outside  yet,  but  the  room  was  shadowy  and 
heavy  rain  beat  against  its  walls.  Mowbray  sat  at  a 
table  by  the  window,  apparently  lost  in  thought,  for 
although  there  were  some  papers  in  front  of  him  the 
light  was  too  dim  to  read.  He  glanced  up  with  a 
frown  when  his  son  came  in. 

"If  you  had  thought  it  worth  while  to  let  me  know 
you  were  going  to  Winnipeg,  I  could  have  given  you 
an  errand,"  he  said,  and  added  dryly :  "  One  would 
imagine  that  these  trips  are  beyond  your  means." 


242        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

Gerald  was  conscious  of  some  shame  and  of  pity  for 
his  father,  whom  he  must  humble;  but  his  fears  for 
his  own  safety  outweighed  everything  else. 

"  I  want  you  to  listen,  sir.  There's  something  you 
must  know." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mowbray.  "  It  is  not  good 
news;  your  voice  tells  me  that." 

It  was  a  desperately  hard  confession,  and  Mowbray 
sat  strangely  still,  a  rigid,  shadowy  figure  against  the 
fading  window,  until  the  story  was  finished.  Then 
he  turned  to  his  son,  who  had  drawn  back  as  far  as 
possible  into  the  gloom. 

"You  cur!"  There  was  intense  bitterness  in  his 
tone.  "  I  can't  trust  myself  to  speak  of  what  I  feel. 
And  I  know,  to  my  sorrow,  how  little  it  would  affect 
you.  But,  having  done  this  thing,  why  do  you  slink 
home  to  bring  disgrace  on  your  mother  and  sister? 
Could  you  not  hide  your  shame  across  the  frontier  ?  " 

It  was  a  relief  to  Gerald  that  he  could,  at  least, 
answer  this. 

"If  you  will  think  for  a  moment,  sir,  you  will  see 
the  reason.  I  don't  want  to  hide  here,  but  it's  plain 
that,  for  all  our  sakes,  I  must  meet  this  note.  If  it's 
dishonored,  the  holder  will  come  to  you ;  and,  although 
I  might  escape  to  the  boundary,  you  would  be  forced 
to  find  the  money."  Gerald  hesitated  before  he  added  : 
"  It  would  be  the  only  way  to  save  the  family  honor." 

"  Stop !  "  cried  Mowbray.  "  Our  honor  is  a  subject 
you  have  lost  all  right  to  speak  about !  " 

For  a  moment  or  two  he  struggled  to  preserve  his 
self-control,  and  then  went  on  in  a  stern,  cold  voice: 

"  Still,  there  is  some  reason  in  what  you  urge.  It 
shows  the  selfish  cunning  that  has  been  your  ruin." 


THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING         243 

"  Let  me  finish,  sir,"  Gerald  begged  hoarsely. 
"  The  note  must  be  met.  If  I  take  it  up  on  presen- 
tation, the  matter  ends  there ;  but  you  can  see  the  con- 
sequences if  it's  dishonored." 

"  They  include  your  arrest  and  imprisonment.  It's 
unthinkable  that  your  mother  and  sister  should  be 
branded  with  this  taint ! "  Mowbray  clenched  his 
hand.  "  The  trouble  is  that  I  cannot  find  the  money. 
You  have  already  brought  me  to  ruin." 

There  was  silence  for  the  next  minute,  and  the  lash- 
ing of  the  rain  on  the  ship-lap  boards  sounded  harshly 
distinct. 

Gerald  saw  a  possible  way  of  escape,  but,  desperate 
as  he  was,  he  hesitated  about  taking  it.  It  meant 
sacrificing  his  sister;  but  the  way  seemed  safe.  His 
father  would  stick  at  nothing  that  might  save  the  fam- 
ily honor. 

"  There's  Brand,"  he  suggested,  knowing  it  was  the 
meanest  thing  he  had  ever  done.  "Of  course,  one 
would  rather  not  tell  an  outsider;  but  he  can  keep  a 
secret  and  might  help." 

"  Ah !  "  Mowbray  exclaimed  sharply,  as  if  he  saw  a 
ray  of  hope.  Then  he  paused  and  asked  with  harsh 
abruptness :  "  Whose  name  did  you  use  on  the 
note?" 

"  Harding's." 

Mowbray  lost  his  self-control.  Half  rising  in  his 
chair,  he  glared  at  his  son. 

"  It's  the  last  straw !  "  he  said,  striking  the  table  fu- 
riously. "  How  the  low-bred  fellow  will  triumph  over 
us!" 

"  He  can't,"  Gerald  pointed  out  cunningly,  using 
his  strongest  argument  in  an  appeal  to  his  father's 


244        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

prejudice.  "  He  will  know  nothing  about  the  note 
if  I  can  take  it  up  when  due." 

Mowbray  sank  back  in  his  chair,  crushed  with 
shame. 

"  It  must  be  managed  somehow,"  he  said  in  a  falter- 
ing voice.  "  Now  —  go;  and,  for  both  of  our  sakes, 
keep  out  of  my  way." 

Gerald  left  him  without  a  word,  and  Mowbray  sat 
alone  in  the  darkness,  feeling  old  and  broken  as  he 
grappled  with  the  bitterest  grief  he  had  known. 
There  had,  of  course,  been  one  or  two  of  the  Mow- 
brays  who  had  led  wild  and  reckless  lives,  but  Ger- 
ald was  the  first  to  bring  actual  disgrace  upon  the 
respected  name.  The  Colonel  could  have  borne  his 
extravagance  and  forgiven  a  certain  amount  of  dissi- 
pation, but  it  humbled  him  to  the  dust  to  realize  that 
his  son  was  a  thief  and  a  coward. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE    PRICE    OF    HONOR 

TT  was  very  quiet  in  the  drawing-room  of  the 
•••  Grange,  where  Mrs.  Mowbray  sat  with  an  ex- 
hausted look,  as  if  she  had  made  an  effort  that  had  cost 
her  much.  She  had  just  finished  speaking,  and  was 
watching  Beatrice,  whose  face  was  white  and  strained. 

"  But  what  has  Gerald  done  ?  I  think  I  have  a  right 
to  know,"  the  girl  broke  out. 

"  He  wrote  somebody  else's  name  on  the  back  of  a 
promise  to  pay  some  money,  which  meant  that  the 
other  man,  who  really  knew  nothing  about  it,  guaran- 
teed that  the  payment  would  be  made." 

"  But  that  is  forgery !  "  Beatrice  cried,  aghast. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Mowbray  with  a  shudder;  "I'm 
afraid  it's  forgery  of  a  very  serious  kind,  because  it 
enabled  him  to  obtain  a  good  deal  of  money  which  he 
could  not  otherwise  have  got." 

"  Oh,  how  dreadful !  "  Beatrice  impulsively  crossed 
the  floor  and,  kneeling  down  beside  her  mother,  put 
her  arm  round  her.  "  I  know  how  you  must  feel  it. 
And  now  I  can  understand  Father's  troubled  look. 
He  has  been  very  quiet  and  stern  since  Gerald  came 
home." 

"  Your  father  has  more  trouble  than  you  know. 
Perhaps  I'd  better  tell  you  about  it,  as  you  must 
grasp  the  situation.  You  heard  that  Godfrey  Barnett 

245 


246        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

was  dead,  but  you  don't  know  that  he  died  ruined  by 
the  failure  of  the  bank." 

"  Ah!     All  our  money  was  in  Barnett's,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Mowbray.     "  It  has  all  gone." 

She  stopped  in  distress.  The  task  of  influencing 
the  girl  to  take  a  course  she  must  shrink  from  was 
painful  to  her;  but  she  had  promised  her  husband  and 
must  go  on  with  it.  There  was  no  other  way,  and  it 
was  in  accordance  with  her  traditions  that  the 
threatened  honor  of  the  family  should  come  before 
her  daughter's  inclinations. 

"  Now  you  can  see  why  it's  impossible  for  your 
father  to  save  Gerald  by  paying  the  money.  It  ex- 
plains why  he  has  been  forced  to  ask  help  from 
Brand." 

Beatrice  drew  back  from  her,  as  if  overwhelmed. 

"  Blow  after  blow !  How  has  he  borne  it  all  ?  And 
yet  he  is  very  brave." 

"  You  are  his  daughter,"  said  Mrs.  Mowbray  mean- 
ingly, though  she  felt  that  what  she  was  doing  was 
cruel.  "  You  must  be  brave,  too.  I  think  you  see 
how  you  can  make  things  easier  for  him." 

"  Oh !  "  The  girl  drew  a  quick  breath.  Then  she 
rose  with  a  hot  face,  burning  with  fierce  rebellion. 
"  The  fault  is  Gerald's,  and  he  must  suffer  for  it ! 
Why  should  I!  He  has  always  brought  us  trouble; 
everything  has  been  given  up  for  the  sake  of  the  boys. 
Don't  I  know  how  you  have  had  to  deny  yourself  be- 
cause of  their  extravagance?  It's  unjust!  Not  even 
my  father  has  the  right  to  ask  this  sacrifice  from  me!  " 

"  Gerald  cannot  suffer  alone.  If  he  is  arrested  for 
forgery,  it  will  crush  your  father  and  be  a  stain  on 
Lance's  name  as  long  as  he  lives.  Lance  has  been 


THE  PRICE  OF  HONOR  247 

very  steady  since  his  accident,  and  I  dare  not  think  of 
his  being  thrown  back  into  his  reckless  ways.  Then 
the  disgrace  will  reflect  even  more  seriously  on  you  — 
a  girl  is  condemned  for  the  sins  of  her  relatives.  I  do 
not  speak  of  myself,  because  the  worst  that  could 
happen  to  me  was  to  learn  that  my  son  had  done  this 
thing." 

Beatrice's  mood  changed  suddenly.  Her  high  color 
faded  and  she  made  a  hopeless  gesture. 

"  It's  true!  I  feel  as  if  I  were  in  a  trap  and  could 
not  get  out.  It's  horrible !  " 

She  sank  down  again  by  her  mother's  side  and 
struggled  for  composure. 

"  Let  us  face  the  matter  quietly,"  she  said.  "  Brand 
is  our  friend;  he  cannot  be  so  ungenerous  as  to  ask  a 
price  for  his  help." 

"  He  is  a  hard  man,  and  very  determined." 

"Yes;  I  know.  I  have  been  afraid  of  him.  He 
made  me  feel  he  was  waiting  until  his  opportunity 
came.  But,  for  all  that,  I  can't  believe " 

Mrs.  Mowbray  gave  her  a  glance  of  compassionate 
sympathy. 

"  Even  if  Brand  does  not  claim  his  reward,  we  know 
what  would  persuade  him  to  do  us  the  great  service 
your  father  must  ask.  Can  we  take  this  favor  from 
him,  and  then  deny  him  what  he  longs  for?  There 
is  nobody  else  who  can  help  us,  and  our  need  is  press- 
ing." 

"  But  I  am  not  asking  the  favor ! "  Beatrice  urged 
in  desperation.  "  The  debt  is  not  mine !  It  would  be 
different  if  I  were  in  Gerald's  place." 

"  You  must  see  that  you  are  using  a  false  argu- 
ment," Mrs.  Mowbray  answered  gently.  "  A  girl  can- 


248        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

not  separate  herself  in  this  way  from  her  father  and 
brother:  the  family  responsibilities  are  hers.  It  may 
sound  very  harsh,  but  you  cannot  repudiate  the  liabil- 
ity Gerald  has  incurred.  When  he  did  wrong,  he 
made  us  all  accountable." 

Beatrice  could  not  deny  this.  She  had  been  taught 
that  the  family  was  not  a  group  but  a  unit  and  its 
honor  indivisible,  and  she  had  always  been  made  to 
feel  that  it  was  her  duty  to  reflect  credit  upon  her  name. 
It  was  a  comfortable  doctrine  when  things  went  well; 
when  things  went  wrong,  however,  it  became  very 
cruel.  Seeing  no  hope  at  all,  she  fell  into  mute  de- 
spair, and  it  was  some  time  before  she  could  rouse  her- 
self. At  last  she  got  up  with  a  quietly  resolute  expres- 
sion. 

"  Well,"  she  said  slowly,  as  if  it  cost  her  a  great 
effort,  "  I  must  try  not  to  disgrace  you  by  any  foolish 
weakness.  Since  this  is  our  debt,  I  must  pay  it.  One 
understands  that  women  have  often  done  such  things. 
It  seems  as  if  all  the  burdens  were  laid  on  our  shoul- 
ders —  and  men  call  us  weak !  "  She  paused  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  asked  in  a  dead,  indifferent  voice : 
"  Whose  name  did  Gerald  forge?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Your  father  didn't  tell  me.  I 
thought  he  tried  to  avoid  it." 

Moving  calmly  to  the  door,  Beatrice  was  surprised 
to  find  Gerald  waiting  in  the  passage  outside.  She 
gave  him  a  steady  look.  Her  face  was  white  and 
hard,  and  there  was  scorn  in  her  eyes.  Gerald  drew 
back,  almost  as  if  she  had  struck  him. 

"You  have  been  talking  to  Mother?"  he  asked 
awkwardly. 

"  Yes,"  she  said ;  "  and  you  know  what  we  talked 


THE  PRICE  OF  HONOR  249 

about.  So  far  as  anything  I  can  do  may  count,  you 
are  safe.  That,  of  course,  was  all  you  wanted  to 
know." 

She  saw  keen  relief  in  his  face. 

"  After  all,"  he  urged,  "  Brand  is  a  very  good  fel- 
low and  has  many  advantages  to  offer." 

She  turned  upon  him  with  burning  indignation. 

"  Don't  be  a  hypocrite !  You  know  it  would  not 
have  mattered  if  he  had  been  the  meanest  rogue  in 
Canada  —  so  long  as  you  got  free." 

She  swept  past  him  and  left  him  standing  in  the 
passage  with  a  downcast  air. 

Seeking  refuge  in  her  room,  she  locked  the  door 
and  tried  to  think.  She  must  face  the  situation  and 
not  let  futile  anger  and  horror  overcome  her.  Grow- 
ing calm  after  a  time,  she  began  to  wonder  why  the 
prospect  of  marrying  Brand  was  so  repugnant.  He 
belonged  to  her  own  station,  they  had  much  in  com- 
mon, and,  in  a  way,  she  liked  him.  Then,  she  had 
long  known  that  she  would  be  expected  to  make  a  good 
match,  and  Brand  had  kept  his  beautiful  English  house 
waiting  for  her;  his  wife  would  have  the  position  and 
social  influence  Beatrice  had  been  taught  to  value.  But 
these  things  seemed  worthless  now. 

She  looked  out  through  the  open  window  at  the 
prairie.  It  had  grown  green  with  the  rain,  though 
clumps  of  bleached  grass  still  checkered  it  with  silvery 
gray.  Red  lilies  were  opening  here  and  there,  and  as 
she  gazed  the  blue  shadow  of  a  cloud  swept  across  the 
plain  and  vanished,  leaving  it  bright  with  sunshine. 
Its  vastness  and  the  sense  of  freedom  it  conveyed  ap- 
pealed to  the  girl.  There  was  a  charm  in  the  wide 
horizon ;  one  never  felt  cramped  upon  the  plains.  She 


250        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

loved  the  spacious  land,  and  did  not  want  to  live  in 
England. 

But  this  was  a  deceptive  argument.  Brand  would 
stay  at  Allenwood  if  she  wished.  Indeed,  she  knew 
that  he  would  make  many  a  sacrifice  to  please  her  if 
she  married  him.  She  must  look  for  a  better  reason. 

It  was  not  hard  to  find,  for  in  this  crisis  she  must 
be  honest  with  herself.  The  blood  crept  to  her  face  as 
she  realized  that  she  could  not  marry  Brand  because 
she  loved  some  one  else.  Now  that  such  love  was 
hopeless  and  must  be  overcome,  the  disturbing  truth 
was  plain.  She  had  fenced  with  and  tried  to  deny  it, 
but  when  it  was  too  late,  it  had  beaten  her. 

By  way  of  relief,  she  tried  to  occupy  her  mind  with 
another  thought.  Her  father  had  been  reluctant  to 
tell  whose  name  Gerald  had  forged.  Beatrice  knew 
that  her  brother  would  choose  a  man  of  wealth,  other- 
wise the  name  would  have  no  weight,  and  she  did  not 
think  he  had  fixed  on  Brand.  Her  father's  reticence 
made  her  feel  that  it  must  be  Harding.  Beatrice 
thought  her  father  unjust  and  foolish.  Harding 
would  not  take  a  shabby  advantage  of  his  position; 
he  was  generous,  but,  unfortunately,  no  help  could 
come  from  him.  She  could  not  tell  her  lover  that  her 
brother  was  a  thief;  besides,  this  was  a  secret  that 
must  be  carefully  hidden  from  everybody  outside  the 
family.  Brand,  she  reflected  with  a  shudder  of  re- 
pugnance, would  soon  belong  to  it.  There  was  no 
help  anywhere. 

Beatrice  leaned  against  the  window- frame,  her  head 
buried  in  her  arms.  The  soft  air  from  the  prairie 
swept  over  her  caressingly,  the  hot  sunshine  bathed 
her;  but  her  heart  was  black  with  despondency.  She 


THE  PRICE  OF  HONOR  251 

was  in  a  trap  —  a  trap  set  by  her  own  brother  —  and 
no  escape  was  possible. 

She  threw  her  head  up  with  a  sudden  resolve.  At 
least  she  would  make  the  sacrifice  bravely,  without 
murmur,  as  befitted  the  daughter  of  the  house  of  Mow- 
bray. 

Her  mood  changing  again  as  quickly,  she  threw  her- 
self across  the  bed  and  burst  into  a  fit  of  passionate 
sobbing. 

And  while  she  lay  there,  worn  with  crying,  her 
father  sat  in  his  study  talking  to  Brand.  He  related 
with  candor  what  had  happened,  making  no  attempt  to 
hide  the  ugliest  facts;  and  Brand  grasped  at  the  op- 
portunity opened  for  him.  He  recognized  that  it 
would  give  him  a  strong  claim  on  Mowbray's  grati- 
tude. It  might  be  mean  to  take  advantage  of  it;  but 
he  had  waited  a  long  time  for  Beatrice,  and  might  lose 
her  altogether  if  he  let  this  chance  slip. 

"  You  have  my  sympathy,  sir,"  he  said  suavely. 
"  It  must  have  been  a  great  shock ;  but  I  am  glad  you 
have  taken  me  into  your  confidence,  because  I  can  be 
of  help.  You  can  repay  me  whenever  you  find  you 
can  do  so  without  trouble." 

Mowbray  gave  a  sigh  of  great  relief. 

"  Thank  you,  Brand.  You  cannot  understand  how 
you  have  eased  my  mind.  I  know  of  no  one  else  who 
would,  or  could,  have  done  so  much." 

The  Colonel  sank  back  in  his  chair,  and  Brand  no- 
ticed how  worn  he  looked.  The  younger  man  was 
conscious  of  a  slight  feeling  of  pity;  but  he  could  not 
afford  to  indulge  it :  he  must  strike  while  the  iron  was 
hot. 

"  Now  that  things  are  going  so  hard  for  you,  in  a 


252        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

financial  way,  it  would  be  some  satisfaction  to  feel 
that  your  daughter's  future  was  safe,"  he  said. 

Mowbray  was  silent  a  moment.  Then  he  answered 
slowly. 

"  Yes.  I  wish  indeed  that  she  could  see  her  way  to 
marry  you." 

"  I  will  speak  plainly.  I  have  been  waiting  pa- 
tiently, but,  so  far  as  I  can  judge,  I  have  gained  noth- 
ing by  this.  I'm  afraid  I  may  lose  all  if  I  wait  much 
longer.  Beatrice  likes  me,  we  agree  on  many  points, 
our  tastes  are  similar,  and  I  think  there's  every  reason 
to  hope  she  could  be  happy  with  me.  I  could  give 
her  all  that  a  girl  brought  up  as  she  has  been  could 
desire." 

"  Do  you  suggest  that  I  should  urge  her  to  marry 
you?"  Mowbray  asked  with  some  asperity. 

Brand  hesitated.  He  knew  that  he  was  doing  an 
unchivalrous  thing,  but  the  passion  he  hitherto  had 
kept  in  check  mastered  him. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  that  is  what  I  really 
meant." 

Mowbray  looked  at  him  in  haughty  surprise. 

"  You  know  I  cannot  refuse  you ;  but  I  hardly  ex- 
pected you  to  take  this  line.  It  might  have  been 
better  if  you  had  relied  upon  my  gratitude  and  my 
daughter's  recognition  of  the  service  you  have  done 
us.  We  are  not  in  the  habit  of  forgetting  our  debts." 

"  The  trouble  is  that  I  cannot  afford  to  take  a  risk ; 
there  is  some  danger  of  Beatrice's  becoming  estranged 
from  me.  I  would  not  press  you  if  I  saw  any  strong 
reason  why  she  should  not  be  happy  as  my  wife,  but 
I  know  of  none,  and  I  feel  that  this  is  my  last  chance." 

"  Then  you  mean  to  insist  upon  your  claim?  " 


THE  PRICE  OF  HONOR  253 

"  Very  reluctantly,  sir." 

Mowbray  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then 
he  looked  up  with  a  strained  expression. 

"  You  place  me  in  a  helpless  position.  You  make 

me  and  my  family  your  debtors,  and  then "  He 

broke  off  abruptly.  "  Did  you  mean  to  hint  there  was 
some  particular  danger  of  my  daughter's  becoming 
estranged  from  you  ?  " 

"  Since  you  force  me  to  be  candid,  I  believe  she 
is  attracted  by  another  man;  perhaps  I  ought  to  say 
interested  in  him.  I  cannot  suspect  any  attachment 
yet;  but  I  am  afraid." 

"Who  is  he?" 

Brand  hesitated  a  moment  before  answering. 

"  I  cannot  give  you  his  name,  because  I  may  be 
mistaken.  Still,  he  is  a  man  you  would  strongly  dis- 
approve of." 

There  was  suspicion  in  Mowbray's  eyes  and  his  face 
hardened. 

"  What  you  hint  at  surprises  me,  Brand ;  but  I  can- 
not compliment  you  upon  your  conduct  to-night. 
However,  as  Beatrice  is  the  most  interested  person, 
it  is,  I  think,  only  right  that  she  should  be  allowed  to 
speak." 

He  rang,  and  the  servant  who  promptly  answered 
was  sent  for  Beatrice.  When  the  door  opened  a  few 
moments  afterward,  Mowbray  was  surprised  to  see 
not  his  daughter  but  the  maid. 

"  Miss  Mowbray  is  ill,"  she  announced,  "  and  begs 
you  to  excuse  her." 

The  maid  withdrew,  and  Mowbray  frowned. 

"  When  must  my  daughter  pay  this  debt  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  When  is  the  forged  note  due  ?  " 


254        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  I  understand  that  the  Winnipeg  fellow  will  bring 
it  to  me  here  on  Friday  night." 

"  Then  there  are  two  days  yet.  I  will  leave  Miss 
Mowbray  free  until  Friday  night.  In  the  meantime 
I  shall  expect  you  to  use  your  influence  with  her." 
He  hesitated  a  moment,  feeling  that  he  might  not  be 
taking  the  right  line.  "  I  must  urge  you  again,  sir, 
to  consider,"  he  finished,  "  that  it  will  be  only  for 
your  daughter's  good,  in  every  way,  to  marry  me." 

When  he  left,  Mowbray  sat  motionless  in  his  chair 
for  a  long  while,  looking  out  over  the  prairie  but  see- 
ing nothing  in  front  of  him.  Then  with  an  effort  he 
roused  himself.  After  all,  he  tried  to  believe,  it  would 
not  be  so  bad  for  the  girl.  She  was  young ;  she  might 
yet  learn  to  love  Brand,  even  though  she  married  him 

under  compulsion.  As  for  Harding Mowbray 

dismissed  the  thought.  He  had  no  fear  that  his 
daughter  would  so  far  forget  her  station :  the  pride  of 
caste  had  been  drilled  into  her  too  strongly. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A    WOMAN    INTERVENES 

THE  following  afternoon  Beatrice  rode  moodily 
across  the  plain.  After  another  talk  with  her 
mother,  she  had  passed  a  sleepless  night  and  spent 
the  morning  wandering  restlessly  to  and  fro.  It  was 
horribly  degrading  to  her  to  feel  that  Brand  had 
bought  her;  but  it  was  true,  and  it  destroyed  the  hope 
that  time  might  reconcile  her  to  her  lot.  She  could 
not  forgive  him  that,  but  after  all  it  was  only  part 
of  an  intolerable  situation. 

On  a  long  gradual  rise  her  horse  began  to  slacken 
speed,  and  she  pulled  up  when  she  reached  the  top. 
Sitting  still  for  a  time,  she  vacantly  looked  about. 
The  hill  commanded  a  wide  view:  she  could  see  the 
prairie  roll  back,  changing  as  it  receded  from  vivid 
green  to  faint  ethereal  blue  on  the  far  horizon. 
White  clouds  swept  across  the  sky,  streaking  the  plain 
with  shadows.  There  was  something  exhilarating  in 
the  picture,  but  Beatrice  felt  that  she  hated  it  for  its 
mocking  suggestion  of  space  and  freedom.  There 
was  no  freedom  at  Allenwood ;  she  was  to  be  sold  into 
shameful  bondage. 

A  gray  streak  of  smoke  that  moved  across  the  waste 
caught  her  eye.  It  was  Harding,  harrowing  by 
steam  or  perhaps  bedding  down  his  seed-wheat  with 
the  land-packer.  Beatrice  thought  of  him  with  a 

255 


256        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

poignant  sense  of  regret.  He  loved  her,  and  she  had 
deceived  herself  in  thinking  she  could  not  love  him. 
She  had  been  bound  by  foolish  traditions  and  had  not 
had  the  courage  to  break  loose.  It  was  too  late  now 
and  she  must  pay  the  penalty  of  her  cowardice.  She 
longed  to  call  Harding  to  her  help;  he  was  strong 
enough  to  save  her.  But  the  family  disgrace  must 
be  kept  secret.  There  was  no  way  out ;  she  seemed  to 
be  turning  round  and  round  in  a  narrow  cage  and  beat- 
ing herself  vainly  against  the  bars. 

As  she  started  her  horse  she  saw  in  the  distance 
the  Broadwood  homestead  rising,  a  blur  of  gray  build- 
ings, and  she  rode  toward  it.  She  needed  sympathy, 
and  her  mother  had  nothing  but  resignation  to  urge. 
Effie  Broadwood  was  kind  and  fond  of  her;  it  would 
be  some  comfort  to  tell  her  that  she  was  in  trouble  — 
though  of  course  she  could  not  go  into  particulars. 

Mrs.  Broadwood  at  once  noticed  the  girl's  troubled 
face,  and  knew  that  something  had  gone  wrong.  She 
led  Beatrice  into  her  plain  little  sitting-room  and  made 
her  comfortable  on  a  sofa.  Then,  sitting  down  be- 
side her,  she  took  her  hand  affectionately. 

"  Now,  dear,"  she  said,  "  we  can  have  a  quiet  talk. 
I  know  that  something  is  troubling  you." 

Beatrice  was  moved  by  her  unaffected  sympathy. 
She  had  friends  at  Allenwood  but  she  could  not  go  to 
them.  They  would  think  her  rather  to  be  envied  than 
pitied;  but  this  warm-hearted,  unconventional  woman 
would  understand.  She  longed  to  take  her  into  her 
confidence,  and  although  this  was  impossible,  the 
numbing  despair  in  her  heart  began  to  melt. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  much ;  but  —  I  suppose  I  shall  be 
married  soon." 


A  WOMAN  INTERVENES  257 

Mrs.  Broadwood  looked  keenly  interested. 

"Is  it  an  Allen  wood  man?" 

"  Brand.  I  must  tell  him  definitely  to-morrow 
evening." 

"  Ah !  "  Mrs.  Broadwood  exclaimed.  There  was  a 
pathetic  note  in  the  girl's  voice  that  touched  her. 
"  But  if  you  don't  want  the  man  you  have  only  to  let 
him  know." 

"  I  wish  it  were  as  easy  as  that ! "  Beatrice  an- 
swered hopelessly. 

Mrs.  Broadwood  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  but 
her  fingers  clasped  the  small  hand  under  them  with 
a  comforting  pressure. 

"  I  think  I  understand.  Your  father  and  mother 
are  on  his  side;  but  if  you'd  hate  to  have  him  for 
a  husband  you  must  not  sacrifice  yourself." 

"  But  I  must ! "  said  Beatrice  desperately,  and  her 
forced  calm  suddenly  broke  down.  Her  companion's 
gentleness  had  destroyed  it,  and  now  a  reaction  from 
the  strain  she  had  borne  had  begun.  "  No,"  she 
added  in  a  broken  voice,  "there's  no  way  out!  I've 
been  trying  to  find  one  and  I  can't." 

She  buried  her  face  in  one  of  the  pillows  and  broke 
into  choking  sobs.  It  was  weak,  she  felt,  and  not 
what  was  to  be  expected  from  a  Mowbray,  but  there 
was  comfort  in  the  bitter  tears.  For  a  while  Mrs. 
Broadwood  let  her  cry,  but  when  she  began  to  soothe 
her,  Beatrice  roused  herself.  She  could  not  remem- 
ber afterward  what  she  said,  but  her  confused  ex- 
cuses for  her  emotion  and  her  fragmentary  half  con- 
fidences left  a  disturbing  impression  on  Mrs.  Broad- 
wood's  mind. 

Beatrice    rode    home    feeling    slightly    comforted, 


258        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

though  she  was  no  nearer  a  solution  of  her  difficulties. 
She  had,  of  course,  been  very  weak  and  perhaps  had 
said  more  than  was  wise,  but  she  had  not  betrayed  her 
brother;  and  Effie  Broadwood  was  a  true  friend. 
Beatrice  was  justified  in  thinking  so,  for  Mrs.  Broad- 
wood  was  to  prove  a  better  friend  than  she  suspected. 

When  the  girl  had  gone,  Mrs.  Broadwood  spent 
some  time  in  thinking  over  what  she  had  heard.  Al- 
though she  had  keen  intelligence,  there  were  points 
that  puzzled  her;  she  had  been  given  several  clues, 
but  they  broke  off  before  they  led  her  far.  Then  she 
decided  that  something  might  be  learned  by  tactfully 
questioning  her  husband,  and  she  went  about  her  work 
until  he  came  home  in  the  evening.  She  let  him  finish 
his  supper  and  light  his  pipe  before  she  began. 

"  The  Mowbrays  are  in  trouble  just  now,  aren't 
they,  Tom?" 

"  I  dare  say ;  they  certainly  have  their  difficulties. 
Why?" 

"  Beatrice  rode  over  this  afternoon  and  she  had 
something  on  her  mind.  What  do  you  think's  the 
matter?" 

"  For  one  thing,  the  Colonel  must  have  lost  a  good 
deal  since  wheat  began  to  go  down.  Then  I  heard 
something  about  the  failure  of  an  English  bank; 
Lance  once  told  me  the  family  had  shares  in  it.  I  ex- 
pect the  stoppage  made  a  difference  in  their  income." 

"  That  doesn't  quite  account  for  it.  Do  you  know 
of  anything  else  ?  " 

"  Gerald  may  have  been  giving  them  trouble  again. 
I  know  he  has  borrowed  a  good  deal  of  money  which 
he'd  find  it  difficult  to  pay,  and  I'm  afraid  he's  been 
mortgaging  his  land." 


A  WOMAN  INTERVENES  259 

This  confirmed  some  of  Mrs.  Broadwood's  suspi- 
cions; but  the  matter  was  still  far  from  clear. 

"  The  Colonel  would  be  very  mad  about  the  mort- 
gage," she  said.  "  Still,  it's  Gerald's  land,  and  he 
can  do  what  he  likes  with  it." 

"  Not  altogether.  He's  bound  by  the  settlement 
covenant,  and,  as  his  father  gave  him  the  land,  he 
ought  to  respect  his  opinions.  Mowbray's  convinced 
that  to  let  in  strangers  would  be  hurtful  to  Allen- 
wood." 

While  feeling  sure  that  Gerald  was  the  cause  of  the 
Mowbrays'  troubles,  Mrs.  Broadwood  did  not  think 
that  Beatrice  would  marry  a  man  she  did  not  care  for 
in  order  to  benefit  the  settlement.  There  must  be  an- 
other reason. 

"  Suppose  Gerald  had  already  mortgaged  his  farm 
and  wanted  some  more  money,  how  would  he  borrow 
it?" 

"  He'd  find  it  hard,  as  he  has  no  security  to  offer," 
Broadwood  answered  with  a  smile.  "  I  don't  know 
much  about  these  matters,  and  don't  want  to  know 
anything  more,  but  I  believe  the  usual  plan  is  some- 
thing like  this :  you  give  the  lender  a  note,  an  engage- 
ment to  pay  in,  we'll  say,  three  months,  and  get  some- 
body to  endorse  it.  His  putting  down  his  name  makes 
him  liable  for  the  amount,  and  if  the  lender  was 
satisfied  about  him,  he'd  give  you  the  money  at  once 
and  take  off  as  much  interest  as  he  could." 

"  But  who'd  guarantee  Gerald  in  that  way  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  certainly  would  not." 

"  He  would  have  to  be  a  man  who  was  known  to 
have  money,"  she  persisted. 

"  I  suppose  so ;  it  would  naturally  make  the  trans- 


260        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

action  easier.  But  it's  not  our  business  to  pry  into  the 
Mowbrays'  affairs." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Broadwood.  "  Still,  I  was 
sorry  for  Beatrice  and  it  made  me  curious." 

She  changed  the  subject  and  after  a  time  took  up  a 
book  as  an  excuse  for  silence.  She  wanted  to  think, 
because  she  now  felt  sure  that  Gerald's  financial  dif- 
ficulties accounted  for  the  pressure  that  was  being 
put  upon  Beatrice.  The  girl  was  being  forced  to 
marry  Brand  because  he  would  supply  the  money  to 
save  her  brother  from  disgrace.  Mrs.  Broadwood 
felt  that  it  must  be  disgrace  and  not  an  ordinary  debt. 
There  would,  however,  be  no  great  difficulty  if  he 
had  given  some  one  a  note,  for  the  man  who  endorsed 
it  must  have  known  that  he  might  be  called  upon  to 
pay.  But  suppose  he  had  not  heard  about  the  trans- 
action at  all?  Mrs.  Broadwood  dropped  her  book, 
for  she  saw  that  she  had  guessed  the  riddle.  Gerald 
had  not  asked  the  man  to  guarantee  him;  he  had 
forged  his  name.  Taking  this  for  granted  made 
everything  plain. 

Then  she  began  to  wonder  whose  name  Gerald  had 
forged.  It  could  not  be  his  father's,  for  Mowbray 
was  known  to  be  far  from  rich.  The  only  man  with 
much  money  at  Allenwood  was  Brand,  but  Mrs. 
Broadwood  thought  it  could  not  be  Brand,  because 
she  knew  Mowbray's  pride  and  believed  that  in  spite 
of  his  anxiety  to  keep  the  matter  quiet  he  would  not 
force  his  daughter  to  marry  a  man  his  son  had  robbed. 
Admitting  this,  she  must  look  for  some  one  else. 
Then  it  dawned  upon  her  that  the  man  was  Harding* 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  Broadwood  asked,  looking 
up  from  his  paper. 


A  WOMAN  INTERVENES  261 

"  I  was  thinking,"  his  wife  replied.  "  S'pose  I 
must  have  thought  aloud.  Anyway  it  wouldn't  in- 
terest you.  How's  wheat  going?" 

"  Down,"  said  Broadwood,  and  there  was  silence 
again. 

Mrs.  Broadwood  saw  what  she  could  do.  She  ad- 
mitted that  she  might  make  a  deplorable  mess  of  things 
if  she  were  mistaken,  but  the  need  was  serious  enough 
to  justify  some  risk.  She  had  courage  and  she  was 
fond  of  Beatrice. 

The  next  afternoon  she  drove  across  the  prairie  to 
the  spot  where  she  thought  Harding  was  at  work. 
She  found  him  busy  with  his  engine  at  the  end  of  a 
wide  belt  of  plowing  which  the  land  packer  had  rolled 
down  hard  and  smooth. 

"  Craig ! "  she  called,  pulling  up  her  horse.  "  I 
want  you  a  minute." 

He  came  to  the  step  of  the  buck-board,  dressed  in 
greasy  overalls,  with  an  oil  smear  on  his  hand,  but 
she  felt  that  he  was  to  be  trusted  as  she  gave  him  an 
approving  glance.  She  liked  his  level  look  and  his 
steady  eyes ;  there  was  force  in  his  quiet  face.  He  was 
the  type  of  man  she  admired:  swift  in  action,  free 
from  what  she  called  meanness,  and  determined.  In- 
deed, she  felt  inclined  to  hesitate  as  she  thought  of  his 
resolute  character.  It  would  be  easy  to  set  him  in 
motion,  but  once  that  was  done  he  could  not  be  stopped, 
and  there  might  be  startling  developments.  It  was 
rather  like  firing  the  train  to  a  mine ;  and  there  was  a 
disturbing  possibility  that  she  might,  after  all,  be 
wrong  in  her  surmises. 

Bui  she  gathered  up  her  courage ;  and  she  knew  that 
there  was  no  time  to  be  wasted. 


262        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  Craig,"  she  said,  "  do  you  want  Beatrice  Mow- 
bray?" 

He  started  and  his  brown  face  flushed. 

"  I  want  her  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world." 

Mrs.  Broadwood  gave  him  a  quick,  approving  nod. 

"  Do  you  know  how  she  feels  about  you  ?  " 

"  No.     I  only  know  what  I  hope." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Broadwood  thoughtfully,  "  I  be- 
lieve she'd  rather  take  you  than  Brand." 

"Brand!" 

"  I  expect  she'll  be  engaged  to  him  to-night,  unless 
you  act."  Mrs.  Broadwood  checked  him  as  he  was 
about  to  speak.  "  This  is  your  chance,  Craig ;  you'll 
never  get  another  half  as  good.  Listen  quietly  for  a 
few  minutes." 

He  stood  very  still,  without  asking  a  question,  until 
she  had  finished. 

"  I  guess  you're  right,"  he  said  with  set  jaws ;  "  and 
I  know  the  man  who  holds  the  note.  If  Beatrice 
is  to  give  Brand  her  answer  to-night,  it  means  that 
Davies  is  coming  here  to  squeeze  the  Colonel,  and  if 
his  train's  on  time,  he  ought  to  make  the  Grange  in 
about  three  hours." 

"  And  you'll  be  there  to  meet  him?  " 

Harding  smiled. 

"  When  I'm  wanted  I  like  to  be  on  hand,  and  I  guess 
I'm  wanted  pretty  badly  now." 

"  You  certainly  are.  I  suppose  you  see  what  you 
must  do?" 

"If  there's  a  note  out  with  my  name  on  it,  it  has 
got  to  be  taken  up.  You  can  leave  the  thing  to  me. 
I  meet  my  obligations." 

Mrs.  Broadwood  saw  that  he  had  found  a  more  ef- 


A  WOMAN  INTERVENES  263 

f active  way  of  dealing  with  the  situation  than  had  yet 
occurred  to  her. 

"  Craig,"  she  exclaimed  with  frank  admiration, 
"  you're  a  wonder !  " 

He  held  out  his  hand  with  a  twinkle  of  rather  grim 
amusement. 

"  Anyway,  I  have  to  thank  you  for  putting  me  on 
the  track,  and  I'm  not  going  to  forget  it.  Now  I 
have  several  matters  to  fix  up  before  I  start  for  the 
Grange." 

She  touched  the  horse  with  the  whip  and  he  stepped 
back. 

"  Good  luck !  "  she  called.     "  You  deserve  it !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A   GREAT   TRIUMPH 

IT  was  getting  dark  when  Brand  reached  the 
Grange.  He  found  Beatrice  in  the  hall,  for  she 
had  not  heard  his  arrival  in  time  to  get  away.  She 
met  him  calmly,  but  after  a  word  of  greeting  she  did 
not  speak,  and  he  hesitated. 

"  Well,"  he  said  with  an  effort,  "  I  have  come  for 
your  answer." 

"  Isn't  it  too  soon  ?  "  she  asked.  "  You  haven't 
carried  out  your  part  of  the  bargain  yet." 

Brand  frowned  in  embarrassment. 

"  You  are  very  bitter ;  but  I  dare  say  it  must  be  hard 
for  you  to  see  my  conduct  in  a  favorable  light." 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  impossible." 

Beatrice  moved  toward  the  broad  stairway. 

"  My  father  is  waiting  for  you  in  the  library,"  she 
said. 

Taking  this  for  a  dismissal,  Brand  joined  Mowbray 
in  his  study.  He  was  sorry  that  the  lamp  was  lighted, 
because  he  felt  disturbed,  and  the  Colonel's  constrained 
manner  did  not  set  him  at  ease.  For  all  that,  they 
forced  themselves  to  talk  about  matters  of  no  impor- 
tance until  Davies  was  shown  in. 

"  I  came  to  see  your  son,  but  I  meant  to  ask  for  an 
interview  with  you  before  I  left,"  the  money-lender 

264 


A  GREAT  TRIUMPH  265 

said  to  Mowbray,  and  then  glanced  at  Brand.  "  I 
imagine  that  our  business  had  better " 

"  Mr.  Brand  is  acquainted  with  it,  and  I  prefer  him 
to  remain.  My  son  has  informed  me  that  you  hold  a 
note  of  his.  No  doubt,  you  have  brought  it  with 
you?" 

"  You  propose  to  pay  it  for  him  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mowbray  with  a  trace  of  haughti- 
ness. "  Since  he  was  foolish  enough  to  give  you  such 
a  document  it  must  be  met." 

Davies  felt  surprised;  but  he  took  out  the  paper. 
He  had  not  expected  it  to  be  met,  and  as  he  stood 
with  it  in  his  hand,  hesitating,  he  was  strangely  irri- 
tated by  Mowbray's  smile.  Then  he  put  the  note  on 
the  table,  and,  after  examining  it,  Mowbray  gave  it 
to  Brand,  who  made  a  sign  indicating  that  he  was 
satisfied. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  it  seems  to  be  in  order."  Then 
he  turned  to  Davies.  "We'll  keep  this  paper;  I'll 
give  you  a  check." 

"  Presently."  Davies  picked  up  the  note.  When 
he  spoke,  he  addressed  Mowbray.  "  I'll  give  you  the 
note  canceled  in  return  for  payment  of  half  the 
amount;  the  rest  to  stand  against  a  purchase  I  want 
to  make." 

"  You  can  have  it  all.  I  have  no  wish  to  defer  pay- 
ment. And  I  don't  understand  what  your  purchases 
have  to  do  with  me." 

"  I'll  explain.  One  of  your  young  neighbors  is 
giving  up  his  farm.  He  hasn't  broken  much  land 
and  the  buildings  are  small.  The  place  ought  to  go 
cheap,  and  I'm  open  to  buy  it.  Then  there's  a  sec- 
tion of  vacant  land,  and  I'm  willing  to  pay  a  small 


266        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

sum  for  an  option  of  taking  it  up  at  a  fixed  price  in 
a  year's  time." 

Mowbray  looked  at  him  in  cold  surprise. 

"  To  begin  with,  I  cannot  sell  you  my  neighbor's 
property;  nor  can  I  give  you  an  option  on  the  vacant 
lot." 

"  In  a  sense  that's  true,  but  you  can  fix  things  as  I 
want  it  if  you  like.  Your  word  goes  a  long  way  in 
these  matters." 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  use  my  influence  in 
your  favor." 

"  It's  impossible ! "  Brand  interposed  bluntly. 
"  We  are  very  careful  whom  we  let  in  at  Allenwood." 

"  In  short,  you  mean  to  keep  me  out,"  Davies  sug- 
gested with  an  ugly  smile. 

"  Take  it  for  granted  that  we  cannot  sell  you  the 
land  you  want." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Davies.  "  I  must  try  to  con- 
vince you  that  you  had  better  indulge  me."  He  fin- 
gered the  note.  "  I  have  not  parted  with  this  docu- 
ment yet.  It  seems  to  me  that  there's  something  un- 
usual about  Mr.  Harding's  signature." 

As  a  rule,  both  Brand  and  Mowbray  were  capable 
of  self-control,  but  the  attack  was  so  unexpected  that 
they  showed  their  alarm.  It  had  not  occurred  to  them 
that  the  moneylender  might  suspect  the  forgery.  In- 
deed, there  was  terror  in  the  Colonel's  face  before  he 
recovered  himself,  and  Brand's  grew  angrily  red. 

"  You  scoundrel !     What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Only  that  I'm  not  sure  Mr.  Harding  would  know 
his  own  writing  if  I  showed  it  to  him." 

Mowbray  motioned  Brand  to  be  silent,  and  for  a 
few  moments  both  sat  still,  feeling  overwhelmed. 


A  GREAT  TRIUMPH  267 

Brand  saw  that  it  was  now  out  of  his  power  to  protect 
his  companion;  and  the  Colonel  realized  that  the  sac- 
rifice of  his  daughter  might  prove  useless.  He  was  in 
the  moneylender's  hands,  and  to  comply  with  his  ex- 
actions would  not  end  them.  The  honor  of  the  Mow- 
brays  was  at  the  rascal's  mercy. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Mr.  Harding !  "  a  servant  announced. 

"  I  can't  see  him  at  present,"  said  Mowbray  with  a 
start  as  he  heard  a  quick,  resolute  step  in  the  passage. 

Before  he  finished  speaking,  Harding  entered. 

"  This  must  look  like  an  intrusion,  and  you'll  have 
to  excuse  my  not  waiting  your  leave,"  he  said.  "  The 
fact  is,  I  was  determined  to  get  in." 

"  So  it  seems,"  Mowbray  answered.  "  Since  you 
have  succeeded,  may  I  ask  if  you  came  here  by  this 
gentleman's  request?" 

"  Why,  no ! "  Harding  looked  at  Davies  with  a 
twinkle.  "  I  guess  my  turning  up  is  a  surprise  to 
him." 

Davies'  crestfallen  air  bore  this  out,  but  he  waited 
silently,  and  for  a  moment  or  two  neither  Brand  nor 
Mowbray  spoke.  The  Colonel,  to  his  astonishment, 
was  conscious  of  some  relief.  After  all,  he  would 
rather  fall  into  Harding's  hands  than  the  money- 
lender's. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  explain  the  object  of  your  visit," 
Mowbray  said,  when  the  silence  threatened  to  become 
awkward. 

"  Certainly ;  though  it  ought  to  be  plain.  Mr. 
Davies  holds  a  note  with  my  name  on  it,  which  I 
understand  Mr.  Gerald  Mowbray  cannot  meet."  He 
leaned  forward  and  took  the  note.  "  It's  due  to-day." 


Baffled  rage  shone  in  Davies'  eyes. 

"You  admit  your  liability?"  he  cried  indignantly. 

"  Of  course!  My  name's  here;  I  don't  go  back  on 
my  obligations." 

Mowbray  looked  at  him  with  dull  astonishment; 
and  Brand,  whose  wits  were  clearer,  with  reluctant 
admiration.  He  thought  the  farmer  was  playing  his 
part  well;  but  Davies  would  not  give  in  yet. 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  acknowledge  this  as 
your  signature  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  calmer  tone. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  doubted  it?" 
Harding  returned.  "  You  haven't  the  reputation  of 
being  a  fool.  Would  you  have  lent  money  on  a  note 
you  suspected  was  forged?" 

Davies  saw  the  game  was  up.  Brand  was  Mow- 
bray's  friend,  and  Harding  was  an  obviously  hostile 
witness.  Unless  he  were  very  careful  he  might  lay 
himself  open  to  a  charge  of  conspiracy;  and  he  was 
powerless  to  attack  Mowbray  so  long  as  Harding 
acknowledged  his  signature. 

"  Well,"  resumed  Harding,  taking  out  his  wallet, 
"  I  guess  I'll  keep  this  paper  and  give  you  a  check." 

Brand  saw  his  last  hope  vanishing. 

"  Stop  a  minute !  "  he  interposed.  "  You're  taking 
too  much  for  granted  in  concluding  that  Gerald  can- 
not pay.  The  debt  is  his  in  the  first  place,  and  with 
the  help  of  a  friend  he  is  able  to  find  the  money." 

Mowbray  looked  up  with  a  curious  expression  in 
which  there  was  relief  and  shame.  Though  he  would 
have  forced  his  daughter  into  a  marriage  she  shrank 
from,  the  necessity  for  doing  so  had  preyed  upon  his 
mind  and  he  seized  the  chance  of  freeing  himself  of 
his  debt  to  Brand.  He  did  not  stop  to  reason,  but 


A  GREAT  TRIUMPH  269 

acted  on  the  vague  feeling  that  Harding,  whom  he  had 
distrusted,  would  prove  an  easier  creditor. 

"  Gerald  cannot  pay  this  note,"  he  said  firmly. 

Brand  turned  to  him  in  surprise;  but  he  saw  that 
Mowbray  was  not  to  be  moved,  and  he  understood 
what  had  prompted  the  Colonel's  sudden  change. 
Brand  had  not  played  a  straight  game,  and  he  had 
lost.  At  the  last  moment  the  prairie  man  had  beaten 
him.  All  that  he  could  do  now  was  to  bear  his  de- 
feat with  dignity. 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  he  answered,  getting  up.  "  Since 
I  cannot  be  of  service,  I  will  leave  you  to  arrange 
matters  with  these  gentlemen." 

Mowbray  went  to  the  door  with  him,  and  closing  it 
behind  them  laid  his  hand  on  Brand's  arm. 

"  You  pressed  me  hard,  but  you  were  willing  to  help 
when  I  needed  it  badly.  I  shall  remember  that  with 
gratitude." 

"  I  wish  you  could  forget  the  rest,  but  it's  too  much 
to  hope,"  Brand  replied;  and  when  Mowbray  went 
back  into  the  room  he  walked  moodily  down  the  pass- 
age. 

Reaching  the  hall,  he  found  Beatrice  waiting  there. 
She  had  seen  Davies  come  in  and  had  heard  of  Hard- 
ing's  arrival,  and  she  now  wondered  with  tense  anx- 
iety what  was  going  on.  She  could  form  no  con- 
clusion and  could  not  ask  Gerald,  because  he  had 
carefully  kept  out  of  her  way.  Looking  up  at  Brand's 
step,  she  felt  her  heart  beat  with  returning  hope,  for 
his  lips  were  set  and  his  brows  knit.  He  had  rather 
the  air  of  a  man  who  had  received  a  heavy  blow  than 
that  of  a  rejoicing  lover.  Something  unexpected  had 
happened  to  humble  him  and  set  her  free. 


270        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  Well,"  he  said  with  an  effort,  "  I  have  lost  you. 
Still,  I  want  you  to  believe  that  I  loved  you." 

Beatrice  was  trembling  from  the  shock  of  relief, 
but  she  knew  that  it  would  be  cruel  to  show  what  she 
felt. 

"  I  never  doubted  that,"  she  answered  quietly ;  "  but 
you  took  the  wrong  way." 

"  There  was  no  other  available.  Now  that  I  have 
lost,  perhaps  you  will  forgive  me.  I'm  going  to  Eng- 
land in  a  week  or  two;  I  haven't  the  courage  to  stay 
here." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  "  But  to  go  away  may  be 
best." 

Brand  left  her,  and  she  leaned  against  the  big  newel- 
post  and  tried  to  keep  calm.  The  thing  she  dreaded 
most  was  not  to  happen.  In  some  miraculous  way 
she  was  free !  She  wondered  with  keen  anxiety  what 
her  father  and  Harding  were  talking  about.  Davies, 
she  knew,  had  left  the  house  a  few  moments  after 
Brand. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  moneylender  was  promptly 
dismissed,  with  a  check  for  the  full  amount  of  the 
note;  and  when  Mowbray  returned  after  closing  the 
door  behind  him,  Harding  laid  the  note  on  the  table. 

"  This  is  yours,  sir,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  "  You 
may  destroy  it." 

"  Mine !  "  Mowbray  showed  his  surprise.  "  You 

mean  —  you "  He  stumbled  over  the  words. 

'You  admit  your  responsibility?"  he  finally  ended. 

"Of  course!" 

Harding  picked  up  the  note,  tore  it  across  twice, 
and  threw  the  pieces  into  the  open  fire. 

"  There's  an  end  of  that,"  he  smiled.     "  Since  it 


A  GREAT  TRIUMPH  271 

bore  my  signature  I  don't  know  that  I  have  any  claim, 
but  you  can  pay  me  when  you  like.  I  won't  press 
you." 

Mowbray  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  He  felt 
overcome  and  could  not  collect  his  thoughts.  His 
prejudices  against  Harding  were  strong,  but  they  were, 
in  a  sense,  impersonal.  It  was  not  the  man  he  ob- 
jected to,  but  what  he  stood  for.  The  fellow's  gen- 
erosity humbled  him. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  have  done  nothing  to  warrant  this 
great  kindness,"  he  said  awkwardly.  "  Am  I  to  un- 
derstand that  you  offer  it  to  me  without  conditions, 
asking  nothing  in  return?" 

"No;  not  altogether.  I  guess  I  might  choose  a 
better  time,  but  I  feel  that  you  should  know  what  I 
want.  I'm  going  to  ask  a  favor.  I  suppose  you  no 
longer  think  of  compelling  Miss  Mowbray  to  marry 
Brand?" 

"  You  can  take  it  that  I  do  not.  But  what  is  this 
to  you?" 

"  Well,"  Harding  said  with  a  slight  unsteadiness 
in  his  voice,  "  I  want  to  ask  you  if  you  will  give  her 
to  me?" 

Mowbray  straightened  himself  in  his  chair. 

"  So  you,  too,  mean  to  make  terms,  when  you  know 
I  cannot  refuse !  " 

"  No,"  Harding  answered  shortly,  "  I  make  none. 
If  you  had  insisted  on  Miss  Mowbray's  marrying 
Brand,  I  might  have  had  something  to  say.  All  I 
ask  is  that  you  give  her  a  free  choice ;  if  she  uses  it  to 
take  somebody  else,  I  won't  complain." 

"  That  is  remarkably  generous,"  Mowbray  conceded. 

"  We'll  let  that  go.     Perhaps  my  request  is  some- 


272        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

thing  of  a  shock,  but  I  want  you  to  hear  me  out.  If 
things  go  well  with  me  this  year,  I  can  give  my  wife 
every  comfort  you  have  at  Allenwood,  and  she  can 
lead  the  life  she  likes  best  —  except  that  I  can't  leave 
the  prairie.  Then  there  is  nothing  that  need  separate 
your  daughter  from  you.  Many  of  her  friends  are 
mine;  they'll  welcome  me  into  the  settlement.  I  did 
not  go  to  them;  they  came  to  me." 

Mowbray  knew  this  was  true.  His  own  younger 
son  firmly  believed  in  Harding.  Kenwyne,  who  had 
fastidious  tastes,  was  his  friend.  There  were  others 
Mowbray  could  think  of,  and  all  were  men  of  char- 
acter and  standing. 

"  May  I  ask  how  long  you  have  entertained  these 
views  about  my  daughter  ?  " 

"  Since  the  first  time  I  saw  her,  and  that  was  very 
soon  after  I  came  to  this  neighborhood.  I  knew  as 
soon  as  she  spoke  to  me  that  I  would  never  marry 
any  one  else." 

Mowbray  studied  him.  He  had  not  suspected 
Harding  of  romantic  tendencies,  but  the  man  was  ob- 
viously serious. 

"Has  she  any  reason  to  suspect  your  feelings?" 
he  asked. 

"  The  best  of  reasons ;  I  have  told  her  on  more  than 
one  occasion.  Still,  I  can't  claim  that  she  approves  of 
me." 

Had  Harding  made  his  proposal  earlier,  it  would 
not  have  been  entertained  for  a  moment,  but  Mow- 
bray had  suffered  during  the  last  few  days.  He  had 
found  that  it  cost  him  more  than  he  had  expected  to 
disregard  his  daughter's  inclinations,  and  he  shrank 
from  doing  so  again.  Then  he  owed  much  to  Hard- 


A  GREAT  TRIUMPH  273 

ing,  who  had  behaved  with  somewhat  surprising  good 
taste.  After  all,  if  Beatrice  were  fond  of  him  — 
Mowbray  stopped  here,  feeling  that  the  matter  must 
be  settled  at  once.  He  determined  to  confront  the 
girl  with  Harding  and  learn  the  truth. 

"  I  hope  to  give  you  an  answer  in  a  few  minutes," 
he  said,  and  left  the  room. 

Somewhat  to  his  surprise,  Mrs.  Mowbray  agreed 
to  his  plan,  and  when  he  went  back  to  his  study  he  and 
Harding  waited  until  Beatrice  entered.  She  was 
highly  strung  but  calm,  though  a  trace  of  color  crept 
into  her  face  as  she  glanced  at  Harding. 

"  Gerald  is  safe,"  Mowbray  told  her.  "  Mr.  Hard- 
ing, who  has  acted  very  generously,  has  ensured  that. 
Now  he  asks  that  I  should  allow  you  to  marry  him." 

Beatrice  look  startled;  her  face  grew  dead- white 
and  her  expression  strained. 

"  After  what  he  has  learned  about  us  he  is  very 
rash.  But  this  is  not  generosity!" 

Mowbray  stopped  Harding,  who  would  have  spoken. 

"  I  see  that  I  did  not  make  his  meaning  clear.  He 
merely  asks  that  I  withdraw  my  objections,  and  not 
that  I  try  to  influence  your  decision.  I  am  willing  to 
do  the  former,  but  you  must  make  your  choice." 

Beatrice  gave  Harding  a  swift,  grateful  look. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  misunderstood.  I  should  have 
known  you  better,"  she  said  in  a  very  low  voice. 

Then  she  was  silent  for  a  moment,  with  downcast 
eyes,  and  the  two  men  waited  tensely.  When  she 
looked  up  her  eyes  glistened  with  tears ;  but  behind  the 
tears  there  shone  a  great  happiness. 

"  It  is  not  hard  to  decide,"  she  murmured,  reach- 
ing her  hand  out  timidly  toward  Harding. 


274        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

He  grasped  it  eagerly,  and  Mowbray  forced  him- 
self to  smile.  In  spite  of  the  Colonel's  prejudices,  he 
felt  that  his  daughter's  quiet  confidence  in  the  prairie 
man  was  justified. 

"  I  sincerely  wish  you  well,"  he  said.  He  laid  one 
hand  on  Harding's  arm,  and  there  was  a  tremor  in  his 
voice  as  he  continued :  "  We  have  not  agreed  on 
many  points,  but  I  have  learned  that  you  can  be 
trusted.  I  am  glad  to  remember  it  now." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Harding.  "  I  know  the 
value  of  what  you  have  given  me." 

After  a  few  more  words  Mowbray  let  them  go, 
and  when  they  sat  together  on  the  large  black  settle 
in  a  corner  of  the  hall,  the  girl  was  conscious  of  a 
calm  tenderness  for  her  lover  that  was  stronger  than 
anything  she  had  yet  felt. 

"  Craig,"  she  said  softly,  "  I  wasn't  brave  enough 
when  you  first  urged  me,  but  the  hesitation  I  then  felt 
has  gone,  and  I  am  ashamed  of  it.  I  know  that  I  am 
safe  with  you." 

"  Thank  you  for  that,"  he  answered  and  his  face 
grew  compassionate.  "  But  you  look  very  tired  and 
distressed." 

"  I  am  tired  —  but  I'm  happy."  A  faint  flush 
tinted  her  cheeks  and  she  smiled  shyly.  "  The  last 
few  days  have  been  very  trying,  Craig;  and  when 
there  seemed  to  be  no  way  out,  then  I  knew  that  I 
wanted  you.  Now  I  am  still  half  dazed;  my  escape 
seems  so  wonderful !  " 

"  I  know,"  Harding  said  gently.  "  I  was  sorry  for 
you  all.  It  must  have  been  hard  for  your  father,  but 
one  can  see  his  point  of  view.  You  must  forget 
about  it,  dear.  I  am  starting  for  Winnipeg  to-mor- 


A  GREAT  TRIUMPH  275 

row,  and  may  be  there  a  week.  You  will  have  time 
to  get  used  to  things  before  I  come  back." 

"  You  are  very  considerate,  and  even  kinder  than 
I  thought." 

He  smiled  into  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  you  now,  because  I  feel  that  I 
ought  to.  But  you  know  I  want  to  stay !  " 

He  lifted  the  hand  she  gave  him  and  kissed  it  ten- 
derly. Then  a  swift  flood  surged  through  him. 

"Beatrice!"  he  breathed.  "Oh,  Beatrice!  You 
don't  know  what  it  means  to  me ! " 

The  little  fingers  were  nearly  crushed  in  his  strong 
grasp;  but  he  released  them  quickly  and  turned  away. 

"  Good-by,  dear !  "  he  said. 

Beatrice  let  him  go,  but  her  look  was  strangely  ten- 
der and  her  heart  beat  fast.  He  had  shown  a  fine 
unselfishness,  and  a  tact  that  was  perhaps  remarkable. 
She  had  no  hesitation  about  him  now. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  REBUFF 

HARDING  spent  a  busy  week  in  Winnipeg, 
carrying  out  a  scheme  he  had  agreed  upon  with 
Broadwood,  Kenwyne,  and  one  or  two  others,  though 
he  feared  it  would  again  bring  him  into  conflict  with 
Colonel  Mowbray.  He  regretted  this,  but  he  could 
not  allow  it  to  influence  him.  Allenwood,  in  which 
he  now  had  a  strong  interest,  must  not  be  allowed  to 
suffer  because  of  the  Colonel's  old-fashioned  opinions. 
Harding  saw  what  ought  to  be  done;  and  he  felt  that 
to  leave  it  undone,  in  order  to  save  himself  trouble, 
would  be  weak  and,  in  a  sense,  treacherous  to  those 
who  now  looked  to  him  for  a  lead.  He  could  not  act 
against  his  convictions;  he  must  do  what  he  thought 
best,  and  take  the  consequences. 

The  storekeepers  and  implement  dealers  in  the  small 
settlements  had  many  bad  debts,  and  their  charges 
were  proportionately  high,  but  Harding  did  not  see 
why  he  and  his  friends  should  pay  for  the  defaulters. 
Expensive  machines  were  needed ;  and  new  wheat  was 
being  produced  which  would  resist  drought  and  ripen 
soon  enough  to  escape  the  autumn  frost;  but  local 
dealers  were  unable,  or  perhaps  too  careless,  to  obtain 
the  seed.  Then,  Harding  saw  that  a  time  was  coming 
when  mixed  farming  produce,  which  he  called  truck, 
would  be  in  strong  demand;  and  it  was  his  custom  to 
anticipate  a  need.  Kenwyne  and  the  others  recognized 

276 


THE  REBUFF  277 

the  desirability  of  this,  and  had  agreed  to  open  a  joint 
agency  in  Winnipeg.  Harding  was  not  sure  that  the 
expense  could  be  recouped  for  a  time,  but  he  believed 
the  undertaking  would  pay  in  the  end. 

After  finding  a  suitable  office,  he  called  on  a  number 
of  business  men  and  the  flour-millers  who  were  then 
beginning  what  was  to  become  the  leading  industry  of 
the  city.  He  wanted  to  learn  their  views  about  the 
kind  of  wheat  best  suited  to  their  use,  and  to  enter 
into  direct  relations  with  them.  On  the  whole,  he 
succeeded  better  than  he  had  hoped,  and  had  now  only 
to  appoint  an  agent.  Two  or  three  suitable  men  had 
offered  their  services,  and  it  was  difficult  to  decide. 

He  was  thinking  over  the  matter  in  the  newly 
opened  office,  when  Gerald  came  in.  The  Mowbray 
black  sheep  seemed  to  feel  no  embarrassment  in  meet- 
ing him,  for  his  manner  was  inclined  to  be  patroniz- 
ing. Sitting  down,  he  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"  This  is  a  new  venture,  I  don't  know  that  it  will 
meet  with  general  approval  at  Allen  wood,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"  One  mustn't  expect  too  much,"  Harding  answered. 
"  I  guess  the  people  who  object  now  will  come  round 
by  and  by." 

"  I  wonder  how  long  you  think  it  will  be  before 
my  father  falls  into  line,"  said  Gerald  with  a  careless 
laugh.  "  Everything  considered,  I  rather  admire 
your  pluck." 

Harding  let  this  pass.  It  was  not  a  tactful  allusion 
to  his  engagement  to  Beatrice,  and  he  was  annoyed  by 
Gerald's  manner.  He  had  not  expected  much  grati- 
tude, but  the  fellow  did  not  even  seem  to  realize  that 
Harding  had  saved  him  from  jail. 


278        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  I  suppose  you  know  I  have  been  turned  out  of 
Allenwood,"  Gerald  resumed. 

Harding  admitted  that  he  had  been  told  so. 

"  Since  then  I've  heard  from  the  Government  people 
that  they're  not  likely  to  want  me  for  the  new  survey. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I'm  not  sorry.  The  last  man  I 
went  into  the  woods  with  was  a  sour,  exacting  brute." 

"  They've  got  to  be  hard.  It  isn't  easy  to  run  a  line 
through  a  rough  country." 

"  Nobody  knows  that  better  than  I  do,"  Gerald  re- 
plied with  feeling.  "  Well,  I've  been  here  a  week, 
and  can't  find  any  congenial  occupation." 

"  You  don't  look  worried  about  it." 

Gerald  laughed. 

"Oh,  I'm  not,  as  a  rule,  despondent;  and  I  knew 
that  I  could  as  a  last  resort  fall  back  on  you.  This 
explains  my  call.  I  believe  you  want  an  agent  to 
manage  your  office." 

Harding's  expression  indicated  ironical  amusement. 

"  Do  you  think  what  you  have  just  told  me  is  a  rec- 
ommendation for  the  job?" 

"  It  seems  to  prove  my  need  of  it." 

"  But  not  your  suitability.  I'm  not  looking  for  a 
man  whom  nobody  else  will  have." 

Gerald  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  Though  he 
had  not  given  the  matter  much  thought,  he  had  imag- 
ined that  Harding  would  be  glad  to  do  him  a  favor 
for  his  sister's  sake.  It  was  something  of  a  shock 
to  be  refused.  And  the  manner  of  the  refusal  was 
mortifying.  The  fellow  was  a  coarser  brute  than  he 
had  thought;  but  Gerald  did  not  mean  to  let  his  re- 
sentment run  away  with  him. 

"  I    have    a    few    useful    qualifications,"    he   said. 


THE  REBUFF  279 

"  Some  of  the  bigger  implement  dealers  and  the  heads 
of  the  milling  firms  are  men  of  taste  and  education. 
It's  possible  they  might  rather  deal  with  me  than  with 
a  drummer  fellow,  or  a  raw  farmer  fresh  from  the 
soil." 

"  I'm  fresh  from  the  soil,  but  I  guess  I  could  run 
this  end  of  the  business,"  Harding  returned. 

Gerald  saw  that  he  had  blundered;  but  he  did  not 
feel  beaten  yet. 

"  Perhaps  I'd  better  mention  that  I  spoke  to  Ken- 
wyne  and  Broadwood,  and  they  were  willing  that  I 
should  have  the  agency." 

"  That's  so.  I  have  a  letter  from  Kenwyne,  who 
says  he'd  like  to  give  you  a  lift,  but  leaves  me  to  de- 
cide." 

"  Then  his  wishes  ought  to  count.  You  must  see 
that  your  position  at  Allenwood  won't  be  easy;  it  will 
need  some  tact  to  make  it  comfortable,  and  your  giv- 
ing me  the  post  would  go  a  long  distance  in  your 
favor.  You  can't  afford  to  disregard  our  people's 
feelings  until  you've  made  your  footing  good." 

"  Can  I  not  ?  "  Harding's  patience  was  exhausted. 
"  Have  I  ever  tried  to  gain  your  friends'  favor  by  in- 
dulging any  of  their  crank  notions?  If  necessary,  I'll 
put  my  plans  through  in  spite  of  the  crowd ! "  He 
checked  himself.  "  But  this  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  matter.  You're  not  the  man  I  want." 

"  May  I  inquire  what  kind  of  a  man  you  do  want?  " 

"  First  of  all,  one  I  can  trust." 

Gerald  colored,  but  he  got  up  with  some  dignity 
and  moved  toward  the  door. 

"  You  may  regret  your  decision,"  he  said  threaten- 
ingly. 


280        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

Harding  sat  silent  until  the  door  closed,  and  then 
he  went  over  to  the  window  and  looked  out  at  the 
narrow  street  with  a  frown.  He  was  angry,  but  he 
did  not  think  he  had  been  too  severe.  It  was  plain 
that  he  might  have  made  things  easier  for  himself  by 
falling  in  with  Gerald's  suggestion;  the  fellow  was  a 
favorite  at  Allenwood,  where  his  last  offense  was 
known  only  to  one  or  two  people.  Harding  had  no 
doubt  that  Mowbray  would  have  appreciated  his  giv- 
ing his  son  another  chance;  and  Beatrice  would  have 
thought  it  generous.  For  all  that,  the  business  of  the 
settlement  could  not  be  done  by  wastrels;  and  Hard- 
ing felt  that  he  could  not  secure  a  personal  advantage 
by  a  breach  of  trust. 

Gerald's  feelings  about  the  matter  were  far  from 
pleasant.  Returning  to  his  second-class  hotel  he  en- 
deavored to  solace  them  with  a  drink  before  he  sat 
down  in  the  untidy  lounge  to  consider.  He  had  been 
grossly  insulted;  but  he  persuaded  himself  that  this  did 
not  trouble  him  most.  The  worst  was  that  Harding 
was  a  coarse,  low-bred  brute,  and  was,  unfortunately, 
going  to  marry  Beatrice.  Gerald  had  not  hesitated 
about  sacrificing  his  sister  to  save  himself,  but  it  was 
easy  for  him  now  to  feel  that  she  was  making  a  grave 
mistake.  It  was  perhaps  curious  that  he  had  pre- 
served a  keen  sense  of  family  pride,  and  a  belief  that 
people  of  his  station  must  keep  up  their  dignity;  but 
he  was  honest  as  far  as  he  went.  He  knew  that  he 
had  by  no  means  lived  up  to  his  creed;  but,  while 
some  allowances  must  be  made  for  men,  this  did  not 
apply  to  women.  It  was  essential  that  they  should 
remember  what  was  due  to  their  birth  and  rank.  On 
no  account  should  a  well-bred  girl  marry  beneath  her. 


THE  REBUFF  281 

He  went  to  the  bar  for  another  drink,  and  after- 
ward became  convinced  that  Beatrice's  marriage  to 
Harding  could  only  end  in  disaster.  It  must,  there- 
fore, be  prevented.  He  could  not  see  how  this  was  to 
be  done,  but  chance  might  provide  a  means. 

In  the  meanwhile  he  was  confronted  by  the  stern 
necessity  for  earning  his  living.  Taking  up  a  news- 
paper, he  studied  the  advertisements;  but  unfortu- 
nately there  seemed  to  be  no  demand  for  people  with 
refined  tastes  and  polite  accomplishments  in  Canada. 
Farm  teamsters  were  wanted,  and  shovel  hands  for 
a  branch  railroad ;  but  these  occupations  did  not  appeal 
to  Gerald.  A  clerk  was  required  at  a  new  hotel. 
Well,  that  was  more  in  his  line,  and  he  set  off  to  inter- 
view the  proprietor.  After  a  few  curt  questions  the 
man  dismissed  him,  and  Gerald  spent  the  next  day  or 
two  moodily  walking  about  the  town,  until  it  occurred 
to  him  that  he  had  better  see  what  Davies  could  do. 
The  fellow,  who  knew  the  worst  of  him,  owed  him 
something.  He  felt  much  less  bitter  against  the 
moneylender,  who  had  helped  to  ruin  him,  than  he  did 
against  Harding,  whom  he  had  injured. 

Davies  was  disengaged  when  Gerald  entered. 

"  So  you're  up  against  it!"  he  remarked.  "Your 
friends  at  Allenwood  have  no  use  for  you  ?  " 

"  It  looks  like  that.  Otherwise  I  wouldn't  have 
come  here." 

"  I  see  they're  opening  an  office  in  this  city." 

"  Harding's  in  charge.     I  don't  get  on  with  him." 

"Well,  perhaps  that's  natural."  Davies  was  keen 
enough  to  notice  the  rancor  in  Gerald's  tone.  He  was 
afraid  his  plans  about  Allenwood  might  have  to  be 
abandoned,  but  if  he  were  able  to  go  on  with  them, 


282        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

Harding  would  prove  his  most  dangerous  opponent. 

"  I  guess  Mr.  Harding  talked  pretty  straight  to 
you  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  He  took  an  unfair  advantage  of  my  position !  " 

"So  you  thought  you'd  strike  me  for  a  job?  I 
guess  you  know  you're  not  worth  much." 

Gerald  winced  at  this,  but  he  could  not  resent  it. 
His  father  had  disowned  him,  and,  except  for  a  sur- 
reptitious gift  from  his  mother,  he  had  no  resources. 

"It's  plain  that  I  can't  insist  upon  good  terms," 
he  replied.  "  I  quite  expected  you  to  see  it." 

Davies  considered.  He  did  not  suspect  Mowbray 
of  any  fondness  for  steady  work,  and  he  thought  his 
services  as  a  clerk  would  be  dear  at  five  dollars  a  week ; 
but  the  fellow  was  shrewd  and  plausible,  and  had  what 
Davies  called  tone.  Well-brought-up  young  English- 
men and  a  few  Americans  of  the  same  stamp  were 
coming  into  Manitoba  looking  for  land,  and  Mowbray, 
who  understood  these  people,  might  act  as  a  decoy. 
Then,  he  knew  all  about  Allenwood,  and  this  knowl- 
edge might  be  useful  later.  On  the  whole,  Davies 
thought  he  would  take  the  risk  of  employing  him. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I'll  make  you  an  offer." 

It  was  not  an  advantageous  one  for  Gerald,  but 
after  some  objections  he  accepted  it,  and  the  next  day 
reluctantly  set  to  work.  His  occupation,  however, 
proved  less  unpleasant  than  he  had  feared,  and  at  the 
end  of  a  few  weeks  Davies  thought  he  had  acted 
wisely.  Mowbray  was  intelligent  and  unscrupulous, 
his  judgment  was  good,  and  Davies  began  to  take  him 
into  his  confidence. 

Harding,  in  the  meanwhile,  appointed  an  agent  and 
went  home.  He  hired  a  horse  at  the  railroad  settle- 


THE  REBUFF  283 

ment,  and  the  first  of  the  Allenwood  farmsteads  were 
rising  above  the  edge  of  the  plain  when  a  mounted 
figure  appeared  near  a  bluff  that  the  trail  skirted. 
The  figure  was  small  and  distant,  but  it  cut  sharp 
against  the  evening  light,  and  Harding's  heart  beat 
fast  as  he  recognized  it.  Touching  his  horse  with  the 
quirt,  he  rode  on  at  a  gallop  and  pulled  up  near  Beatrice 
with  an  exultant  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"  This  is  very  kind !  "  he  cried. 

She  looked  at  him  shyly,  with  some  color  in  her  face. 

"  Didn't  you  expect  me  to  meet  you  ?  How  far 
have  you  ridden  at  that  furious  pace?  " 

"  Since  I  saw  you  quite  a  way  back.  The  horse 
wouldn't  come  fast  enough !  " 

She  smiled  at  him. 

"If  you  are  not  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  home,  let's 
walk  as  far  as  the  ridge,"  she  suggested. 

Harding,  springing  down,  held  out  his  hand,  and 
when  she  slipped  from  the  saddle  he  caught  her  in  his 
arms  and  held  her  fast  while  he  kissed  her.  Beatrice 
was  not  demonstrative,  but  he  felt  her  arms  tighten 
about  his  neck,  and  the  soft  pressure  of  her  cheek  upon 
his  face,  and  it  gave  him  a  thrill  of  triumph.  Now  he 
realized  all  that  he  had  won. 

For  a  long  while  they  did  not  speak.  Then  Beatrice 
freed  herself  with  a  soft  laugh,  and  they  walked  on 
across  the  prairie.  But  Harding  would  not  release 
one  little  hand,  which  he  clung  to  as  they  climbed  the 
trail  together. 

The  red  sunset  burned  in  front  of  them  with  the 
edge  of  the  plain  cutting  against  it  in  a  hard,  straight 
line.  Above  the  lurid  glow  the  wide  arch  of  sky 
shone  a  vivid  green,  and  the  great  sweep  of  grass  ran 


284        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

forward  steeped  in  deepening  shades  of  blue.  There 
was  something  mysteriously  impressive  in  the  half 
light  and  the  riot  of  color. 

"  What  a  glorious  evening!  "  Beatrice  could  not  help 
exclaiming.  "  I  am  glad  I  shall  not  have  to  leave  the 
prairie." 

The  crimson  flush  on  the  skyline  merged  into  rose 
and  magenta  and  mauve. 

"  It  is  lighted  up  in  your  honor,"  Harding  said. 

"  You  have  a  pretty  imagination ;  but  I  fear  the 
gray  days  are  more  in  keeping  with  the  life  I've  led 
It  was  often  rather  dreary  at  the  Grange,  and  I  felt 
that  I  was  objectless  —  drifting  on  without  a  pur- 
pose." She  smiled  at  Harding.  "  You  can't  under- 
stand the  feeling?  " 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  All  my  life  I've  had  too  much  to 
do.  One  gets  self-centered  through  thinking  only  of 
one's  work.  It  may  be  better  to  stop  now  and  then 
and  look  about." 

"  It  depends  upon  what  you  see.  If  your  surround- 
ings never  change,  you  come  to  know  them  too  well 
and  begin  to  think  that  nothing  different  is  possible. 
It  makes  one  narrow.  We  may  both  need  patience, 
Craig,  before  we  learn  to  understand  each  other's 
point  of  view." 

Harding  realized  the  truth  of  this.  They  looked 
at  many  things  differently,  and  there  were  points  on 
which  their  convictions  were  opposed. 

She  gave  the  strong  hand  that  held  hers  a  slight 
pressure  of  caress. 

"  I  wonder  what  would  have  happened  if  I  hadn't 
been  driven  out  of  my  way  by  the  grass  fire  that 
night  ?  "  she  questioned,  woman-like. 


THE  REBUFF  285 

"  Nothing  would  have  been  different.  I  was  bound 
to  meet  you  sooner  or  later." 

She  laughed  contentedly,  and  they  walked  on  in 
silence  for  a  while.  Harding  felt  that  he  ought  to  tell 
her  about  Gerald,  but  he  hesitated. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing  in  Winnipeg," 
she  said,  as  if  she  had  divined  his  thoughts. 

He  explained  his  business  there  carefully,  and  Bea- 
trice was  pleased  that  he  took  her  interest  and  compre- 
hension for  granted. 

"  Gerald  wanted  me  to  make  him  our  agent,  and  I 
refused,"  he  ended. 

She  was  conscious  of  disappointment,  though  she 
appreciated  his  candor. 

"  I'm  afraid  he  will  find  things  hard.  Of  course, 
it's  his  own  fault,  but  that  won't  make  his  difficulties 
lighter.  Couldn't  you  have  taken  the  risk  of  giving 
him  another  chance?" 

"  No,"  said  Harding.  "  I  wanted  to  help  him,  for 
your  sake,  but  I  couldn't  give  him  the  post.  You  see, 
I  was  acting  for  others  as  well  as  for  myself."  He 
hesitated  before  he  added :  "  I  felt  that  we  must  have 
the  best  man  we  could  get." 

"  And  you  could  get  more  reliable  men  than  my 
brother!  Unfortunately,  it's  true.  But  the  others 
were  willing;  Kenwyne  told  me  so." 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  for  there  was  a  faint 
hardness  in  her  voice. 

"  I  don't  think  they  quite  understood  how  important 
the  matter  is.  Anyway,  they  left  it  to  me  and  I  felt 
forced  to  do  what  seemed  best  for  all." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  as  if  puzzled,  "  Gerald  certainly 
wronged  you." 


286        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  That  didn't  count ;  not  the  wrong  you  mean.  The 
greatest  injury  he  could  have  done  me  would  have 
been  in  giving  you  to  Brand.  However,  it  was  not 
this,  but  his  unfitness  for  our  work  that  made  me  re- 
fuse him." 

He  had  blundered,  and  Beatrice  felt  hurt.  She 
could  have  forgiven  him  for  bitterly  resenting  Ger- 
ald's attempt  to  separate  them,  but  he  seemed  to  con- 
sider that  comparatively  unimportant.  There  was  a 
hard  strain  in  him;  perhaps  her  father  had  been 
right  in  thinking  him  too  deeply  imbued  with  the  com- 
mercial spirit. 

He  helped  her  to  the  saddle,  and  the  misunderstand- 
ing was  forgotten  as  they  rode  in  confidential  talk 
across  the  shadowy  plain  until  the  lights  of  the  Grange 
twinkled  out  ahead.  Harding  left  her  at  the  forking 
of  the  trail,  but  he  was  thoughtful  as  he  trotted  home 
alone.  He  must  exercise  care  and  tact  in  future. 
Beatrice  was  proud,  and  he  feared  that  he  had  not  al- 
together won  her  yet. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

DROUGHT 

THE  wheat  was  growing  tall  and  changing  to  a 
darker  shade;  when  the  wind  swept  through  it, 
it  undulated  like  the  waves  of  a  vast  green  sea,  rip- 
pling silver  and  white  where  the  light  played  on  the 
bending  blades. 

Harding  lay  among  the  dusty  grass  in  a  dry  sloo, 
and  Hester  sat  beside  him  in  the  blue  shadow  of  the 
big  hay  wagon.  Since  six  o'clock  that  morning  Hard- 
ing and  Devine  had  been  mowing  prairie  hay.  They 
had  stopped  long  enough  to  eat  the  lunch  Hester  had 
brought  them;  and  now  Devine  had  returned  to  his 
work,  and  sat  jolting  in  the  driving-seat  of  a  big 
machine  as  he  guided  three  powerful  horses  along  the 
edge  of  the  grass.  It  went  down  in  dry  rows,  ready 
for  gathering,  before  the  glistening  knife,  and  a  haze 
of  dust  and  a  cloud  of  flies  followed  the  team  across 
the  sloo.  Harding's  horses  stood  switching  their 
tails  in  the  sunshine  that  flooded  the  plain  with  a  daz- 
zling glare. 

"  It  was  rough  on  Fred  that  you  wouldn't  let  him 
finish  his  pipe,"  Harding  said. 

"  He  went  obediently,"  Hester  answered  with  a 
smile.  "  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you." 

"  I  suspected  something  of  the  kind ;  but  I  can't  see 
why  you  must  stop  me  now." 

287 


288 

"  You  are  away  at  daybreak  and  come  home  late." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Harding  resignedly.  "  But  I've 
got  to  clean  up  this  sloo  by  dark." 

"Then  you're  not  going  to  the  Grange?  You 
haven't  been  since  Sunday." 

"  Beatrice  understands  that  I'm  busy." 

"  That's  fortunate.  It's  not  nice  to  feel  neglected. 
Can't  you  take  your  mind  off  your  farming  for  a  little 
while,  Craig?  " 

"  It's  my  job.  What's  more,  sticking  to  it  seems 
the  best  way  of  making  things  easier  for  Beatrice. 
I'm  an  outsider  at  Allenwood  and  have  got  to  justify 
my  unorthodox  notions  by  success.  I  haven't  much 
polish  and  I'm  not  a  good  talker,  but  I  can  grow  wheat 
—  and  luckily  that  comes  into  the  scheme." 

"  It  may,  perhaps.  When  are  you  to  be  married, 
Craig?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Beatrice  puts  it  off.  I  had  hoped 
it  might  be  after  harvest,  but  nothing's  settled  yet." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  be  firm  and  insist  upon  fixing 
the  wedding  soon." 

"I  wish  I  could.     But  why?" 

"Because  it  might  be  better  not  to  leave  Beatrice 
among  her  friends  too  long." 

Harding  looked  surprised. 

"  Since  the  Colonel's  given  in,  and  Gerald's  gone,  I 
don't  think  there  is  anybody  who  would  try  to  turn 
her  against  me." 

"  No,"  agreed  Hester.  "  Her  parents  would  be  an- 
gry if  she  broke  her  engagement.  Now  that  they  have 
accepted  you,  you  can  count  on  their  support,  even  if 
they're  not  quite  satisfied  with  the  match.  The 
trouble  is  that  you  and  they  belong  to  very  different 


DROUGHT  289 

schools.  They'll  try  to  make  the  best  of  you,  but 
Beatrice  will  see  how  hard  they  find  it." 

"  Hurrying  on  the  wedding  won't  help  much." 

"  It  might.  Beatrice  will  try  to  accept  her  hus- 
band's views,  and  she'll  probably  find  it  easier  than 
-she  thinks;  but  at  present  all  she  sees  and  hears  will 
remind  her  of  the  changes  she  will  have  to  make. 
Things  you  do  will  not  seem  right;  some  of  your  ideas 
will  jar.  Then  the  other  women  will  let  her  see  that 
they  feel  sorry  for  her  and  think  she's  throwing  her- 
self away.  She'll  deny  it,  but  it  will  hurt." 

"  Perhaps  that's  true,"  said  Harding.  "  But  talk- 
ing of  the  wedding  raises  another  question.  I  want 
a  better  house,  and  when  I  build  I  may  as  well  locate 
at  Allenwood." 

"  Then  you  are  still  determined  on  getting  control 
there?" 

"  I  don't  want  control,  but  I  may  have  to  take  it," 
Harding  answered.  "  The  settlement  will  fall  to  bits 
if  it's  left  alone,  and  I  suspect  that  I'm  the  only  man 
who  can  hold  it  up.  I'm  glad  you  have  talked  to  me. 
What  you've  said  makes  it  clear  that  I've  not  time  to 
lose.  Now,  however,  this  hay  must  be  cut." 

He  led  his  team  into  the  grass  when  Hester  went 
away,  but  although  he  worked  hard  until  dark  fell,  his 
mind  was  busy  with  many  things  beside  the  clattering 
machine. 

A  few  days  later  he  had  occasion  to  visit  Winnipeg, 
and  after  some  talk  with  his  agent  there,  he  asked  him : 

"  Do  you  know  how  Davies  is  fixed  just  now,  Jack- 
son?" 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  him  personally,  but  men 
in  his  line  of  business  are  feeling  the  set-back. 


290        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

They've  bought  options  on  land  there's  no  demand  for, 
and  can't  collect  accounts;  farmers  with  money  seem 
to  have  stopped  coming  in ;  and  the  small  homesteaders 
are  going  broke.  Doesn't  seem  to  be  any  money  in 
the  country,  and  credit's  played  out." 

"  Then  it  ought  to  be  a  good  time  to  pick  up  land 
cheap,  and  I  want  you  to  find  a  broker  who'll  ask 
Davies  what  he'll  take  for  two  or  three  mortgages  he 
holds  on  Allenwood.  My  name's  not  to  be  mentioned ; 
you  must  get  a  man  who  can  handle  the  matter  cau- 
tiously." 

"I  know  one;  but,  if  you  don't  mind  my  asking, 
could  you  put  a  deal  of  that  kind  through?  " 

"  I  must,"  said  Harding.  "  It  will  be  a  strain,  but 
the  crop's  coming  on  well  and  I  ought  to  have  a  sur- 
plus after  harvest." 

"  Isn't  the  dry  weather  hurting  you  ?  " 

"  Not  yet.  We  can  stand  for  another  week  or  two 
if  the  wind's  not  too  bad.  Anyhow,  you  can  find  out 
whether  Davies  is  inclined  to  trade." 

When  Harding  went  out  into  the  street,  he  was  met 
by  a  cloud  of  swirling  dust.  He  wiped  the  grit  from 
his  eyes  and  brushed  it  off  his  clothes  with  an  annoy- 
ance that  was  not  accounted  for  by  the  slight  dis- 
comfort it  caused  him.  The  sun  was  fiercely  hot,  the 
glare  trying,  and  the  plank  sidewalks  and  the  fronts 
of  the  wooden  stores  had  begun  to  crack.  Sand  and 
cement  from  half-finished  buildings  were  blowing 
down  the  street;  and  when  Harding  stopped  to  watch 
a  sprinkler  at  work  on  a  lawn  at  the  corner  of  an 
avenue  where  frame  houses  stood  among  small  trees, 
the  glistening  shower  vanished  as  it  fell.  There  were 
fissures  in  the  hard  soil  and  the  grass  looked  burnt. 


DROUGHT  291 

But  it  was  the  curious,  hard  brightness  of  the  sky  and 
the  way  the  few  white  clouds  swept  across  it  that  gave 
Harding  food  for  thought. 

The  soil  of  the  Western  prairie  freezes  deep,  and, 
thawing  slowly,  retains  moisture  for  the  wheat  plant 
for  some  time;  but  the  June  rain  had  been  unusually 
light.  Moreover,  the  plains  rise  in  three  or  four  table- 
lands as  they  run  toward  the  Rockies,  and  the  strength 
of  the  northwest  wind  increases  with  their  elevation. 
It  was  blowing  fresh  in  the  low  Red  River  basin,  but 
it  would  be  blowing  harder  farther  west,  where  there 
are  broken,  sandy  belts.  After  a  period  of  dry 
weather,  /  the  sand  drives  across  the  levels  with  disas- 
trous consequences  to  any  crops  in  the  neighborhood. 
This,  however,  was  a  danger  that  could  not  be  guarded 
against. 

The  next  day  Jackson  reported  about  the  mortgages. 

"  Davies  was  keen  on  business  and  offered  my  man 
improved  preemptions  in  a  dozen  different  town- 
ships," he  said.  "  Pressed  him  to  go  out  and  take  a 
look  at  them;  but  when  he  heard  the  buyer  wanted  an 
Allenwood  location  he  wouldn't  trade." 

"What  do  you  gather  from  that?" 

"  The  thing  seems  pretty  plain,  and  what  I've  found 
out  since  yesterday  agrees  with  my  conclusions. 
Davies  is  pressed  for  money,  but  he  means  to  hold  on 
to  Allenwood  as  long  as  he  can.  A  good  harvest 
would  help  him  because  he'd  then  be  able  to  get  in 
some  money  from  his  customers." 

"  A  good  harvest  would  help  us  all ;  but  there's  not 
much  hope  of  it  unless  the  weather  changes.  In  the 
meanwhile,  we'll  let  the  matter  drop,  because  I  don't 
want  to  give  the  fellow  a  hint  about  my  plans." 


292        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

Nearing  home  on  the  following  evening,  Harding 
pulled  up  his  horse  on  the  edge  of  the  wheat  as  he  saw 
Devine  coming  to  meet  him. 

"  What's  the  weather  been  like?  "  he  asked,  getting 
down  from  the  rig. 

"  Bad,"  said  Devine  gloomily.  "  Hot  and  blowing 
hard." 

Harding  looked  about  as  they  crossed  a  stretch  of 
grass  that  had  turned  white  and  dry.  The  sunset  was 
red  and  angry,  but  above  the  horizon  the  sky  was  a 
hard,  dark  blue  that  threatened  wind.  Everything 
was  very  still  now,  but  the  men  knew  the  breeze  would 
rise  again  soon  after  daybreak.  They  said  nothing 
for  a  time  after  they  stopped  beside  the  wheat. 

The  soil  was  thinly  covered  with  sand,  and  the 
tall  blades  had  a  yellow,  shriveled  look,  while  the 
stems  were  bent  and  limp.  Harding  gathered  a  few 
and  examined  them.  They  were  scored  with  fine  lines 
as  if  they  had  been  cut  by  a  sharp  file. 

"  Not  serious  yet,  but  the  grain  won't  stand  for 
much  more  of  this." 

"  That's  so,"  Devine  agreed.  "  The  sand  hasn't 
got  far  in,  but  I  guess  it  will  work  right  through  unless 
we  have  a  change.  If  not,  there'll  be  trouble  for  both 
of  us  this  fall." 

"  Sure,"  said  Harding  curtly.  "  Bring  the  horse, 
Fred,  and  we'll  drive  on  to  the  rise." 

They  presently  alighted  where  the  plain  merged 
into  a  belt  of  broken  country,  dotted  with  clumps  of 
scrub  birch  and  poplar.  It  rolled  in  ridges  and  hol- 
lows, but  the  harsh  grass  which  thinly  covered  its 
surface  had  shriveled  and  left  bare  banks  of  sand, 
which  lay  about  the  slopes  in  fantastic  shapes  as  they 


DROUGHT  293 

had  drifted.  Harding  stooped  and  took  up  a  handful. 
It  was  hot  and  felt  gritty.  The  broken  ground  ran 
on  as  far  as  he  could  see,  and  the  short,  stunted  trees 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  scorched.  Glowing  red 
in  the  dying  sunset,  the  desolate  landscape  had  a 
strangely  sinister  effect. 

"  The  stuff's  as  hard  and  sharp  as  steel,"  he  said, 
throwing  down  the  sand.  "  There's  enough  of  it  to 
wipe  out  all  the  crops  between  Allenwood  and  the 
frontier  if  the  drought  lasts." 

"  What  we  want  is  a  good  big  thunderstorm.  This 
blamed  sand-belt's  a  trouble  we  never  reckoned  on." 

"  No,"  said  Harding.  "  I  took  a  look  at  it  when  I 
was  picking  my  location,  but  there  was  plenty  of  grass, 
and  the  brush  was  strong  and  green.  Guess  they'd 
had  more  rain  the  last  two  or  three  years.  I  figured 
out  things  pretty  carefully  —  and  now  the  only  set- 
back I  didn't  allow  for  is  going  to  pull  me  up !  Well, 
we  must  hope  for  a  change  of  weather;  there's  noth- 
ing else  to  be  done." 

He  turned  away  with  a  gloomy  face,  and  they 
walked  back  to  the  rig.  Harding  had  early  seen  that 
Beatrice  would  not  be  an  easy  prize.  It  was  not 
enough,  entrancing  as  it  was,  to  dream  over  her 
beauty,  her  fastidious  daintiness  in  manners  and 
thought,  her  patrician  calm,  and  the  shy  tenderness 
she  now  and  then  showed  for  him.  The  passionate 
thrill  her  voice  and  glance  brought  him  spurred  him 
rather  to  action.  First  of  all,  he  must  work  and  fight 
for  her,  and  he  had  found  a  keen  pleasure  in  the 
struggle.  One  by  one  he  had  pulled  down  the  barriers 
between  them;  but  now,  when  victory  seemed  secure, 
an  obstacle  he  could  not  overcome  had  suddenly  risen. 


294        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

All  his  strength  of  mind  and  body  counted  for  nothing 
against  the  weather.  Beatrice  could  not  marry  a 
ruined  man ;  it  was  unthinkable  that  he  should  drag  her 
down  to  the  grinding  care  and  drudgery  that  formed 
the  lot  of  a  broken  farmer's  wife.  He  was  helpless, 
and  could  only  wait  and  hope  for  rain. 

When  he  had  finished  his  work  the  next  evening  he 
drove  over  to  the  Grange,  feeling  depressed  and  tired, 
for  he  had  begun  at  four  o'clock  that  morning.  It 
was  very  hot:  a  fiery  wind  still  blew  across  the  plain, 
although  the  sun  had  set,  and  Beatrice  was  sitting  on 
the  veranda  with  her  mother  and  Mowbray.  They 
had  a  languid  air,  and  the  prairie,  which  had  turned 
a  lifeless  gray,  looked  strangely  dreary  as  it  ran  back 
into  the  gathering  dark. 

"Not  much  hope  of  a  change!"  Mowbray  re- 
marked. 

Beatrice  gave  Harding  a  sympathetic  glance,  and 
unconsciously  he  set  his  lips  tight.  She  looked  cool 
and  somehow  ethereal  in  her  thin  white  dress  and  her 
eyes  were  gentle.  It  was  horrible  to  think  that  he 
might  have  to  give  her  up;  but  he  knew  it  might 
come  to  this. 

"  You're  tired ;  I'm  afraid  you  have  been  working 
too  hard,"  Beatrice  said  gently. 

"  The  weather  accounts  for  it,  not  the  work,"  he 
answered.  "  It's  depressing  to  feel  that  all  you've 
done  may  lead  to  nothing." 

"  Very  true,"  Mowbray  assented.  "  You're  for- 
tunate if  this  is  the  first  time  you  have  been  troubled 
by  the  feeling.  Many  of  us  have  got  used  to  it;  but 
one  must  go  on." 

"  It's  hard  to  fight  a  losing  battle,  sir." 


DROUGHT  295 

"It  is,"  said  Mowbray  grimly.  "That  it  really 
does  not  matter  in  the  end  whether  you  lose  or  not,  so 
long  as  you're  on  the  right  side,  doesn't  seem  to  give 
one  much  consolation.  But  your  crop  strikes  me  as 
looking  better  than  ours." 

"  I  plowed  deep ;  the  sub-soil  holds  the  moisture. 
Of  course,  with  horse-traction " 

Harding  hesitated,  but  Mowbray  smiled. 

"  I  can't  deny  that  your  machines  have  their  ad- 
vantages," the  Colonel  said.  "  They'd  be  useful  if 
you  could  keep  them  in  their  place  as  servants;  the 
danger  is  that  they'll  become  your  masters.  When 
you  have  bought  them  you  must  make  them  pay,  and 
that  puts  you  under  the  yoke  of  an  iron  thing  that 
demands  to  be  handled  with  the  sternest  economy. 
The  balance  sheet's  the  only  standard  it  leaves  you  — 
and  you  have  to  make  some  sacrifices  if  you  mean  to 
come  out  on  the  credit  side.  Your  finer  feelings  and 
self-respect  often  have  to  go." 

"  I'm  not  sure  they  need  go;  but,  in  a  way,  you're 
right.  You  must  strike  a  balance,  or  the  machines 
that  cost  so  much  will  break  you.  For  all  that,  it's 
useful  as  a  test;  the  result  of  bad  work  shows  when 
you  come  to  the  reckoning.  I  can't  see  that  to  avoid 
waste  must  be  demoralizing." 

"  It  isn't.  The  harm  begins  when  you  set  too  high 
a  value  on  economical  efficiency." 

Harding  did  not  answer,  and  there  was  silence  for 
a  time.  Mrs.  Mowbray  had  a  headache  from  the  heat, 
and  Beatrice  felt  limp.  She  noticed  the  slackness  of 
Harding's  pose  and  felt  sorry  for  him.  He  differed 
from  her  father,  and  she  could  not  think  he  was  al- 
ways right,  but  he  was  honest ;  indeed,  it  was  his  strong 


296        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

sincerity  that  had  first  attracted  her.  She  liked  his 
strength  and  boldness;  the  athletic  symmetry  of  his 
form  had  its  effect ;  but  what  struck  her  most  was  his 
freedom  from  what  the  Canadians  contemptuously 
called  meanness.  Beatrice  was  fastidiously  refined  in 
some  respects,  and  she  thought  of  him  as  clean.  Un- 
consciously she  forgave  him  much  for  this,  because  he 
jarred  upon  her  now  and  then.  Her  father's  old- 
fashioned  ideals  were  touched  with  a  grace  that  her 
lover  could  not  even  admire,  but,  watching  him  as  he 
sat  in  the  fading  light,  she  felt  that  he  was  trust- 
worthy. 

Mosquitos  began  to  invade  the  veranda,  and  Mrs. 
Mowbray  was  driven  into  the  house.  The  Colonel 
presently  followed  her,  and  Beatrice,  leaving  her  chair, 
cuddled  down  beside  Harding  on  the  steps. 

"  Craig,"  she  said,  "  you're  quiet  to-night." 

"This  dry  weather  makes  one  think;  and  then 
there's  the  difference  between  your  father  and  myself. 
He  wants  to  be  just,  but  there's  a  natural  antagonism 
between  us  that  can't  be  got  over." 

"  It  isn't  personal,  dear." 

"No,"  said  Harding;  "we're  antagonistic  types. 
The  trouble  is  that  you  must  often  think  as  he  does 
—  and  I  wouldn't  have  you  different." 

"  That's  dear  of  you,  Craig.  But,  even  if  we  don't 
agree  always,  what  does  it  matter?  I  like  you  be- 
cause you're  so  candid  and  honest.  You  would  never 
hide  anything  you  thought  or  did  from  me." 

They  sat  there  in  the  gathering  gloom.  An  early 
owl  ventured  out  and  hooted  from  his  sheltered  tree- 
top  ;  a  chorus  of  frogs  down  in  the  lake  sent  back  an 
indignant  reply;  a  honeysuckle  vine  that  climbed  over 


DROUGHT  297 

the  veranda  flaunted  its  perfumed  blossoms  to  the  hot, 
night  air,  luring  pollen-bearers. 

To  Harding,  the  worries  of  the  day  were,  for  the 
moment,  forgotten:  a  great  peace  filled  him.  And 
over  the  girl,  as  she  felt  his  strong  arm  around  her, 
there  rested  a  deep,  satisfying  sense  of  security  and 
trust. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  ADVENTURESS 

BEFORE  the  wheat  had  suffered  serious  damage, 
a  few  thunder  showers  broke  upon  the  plain,  and 
Harding  and  his  neighbors  took  courage.  The  crop 
was  not  out  of  danger;  indeed,  a  week's  dry  weather 
would  undo  the  good  the  scanty  rain  had  done;  but 
ruin,  which  had  seemed  imminent,  was,  at  least,  de- 
layed. Then  Harding  got  news  from  his  agent  that 
necessitated  his  return  to  Winnipeg,  and  Mrs.  Mow- 
bray  and  Beatrice,  who  wished  to  visit  the  millinery 
stores,  arranged  to  accompany  him. 

It  was  hot  and  dry  when  they  reached  the  city,  but 
Harding  was  of  sanguine  temperament  and,  being  re- 
lieved from  fear  of  immediate  disaster,  proceeded  with 
his  plans  for  the  consolidation  of  Allenwood.  He 
could  not  carry  them  far,  because  even  if  he  secured 
an  abundant  harvest,  which  was  at  present  doubtful, 
he  would  have  some  difficulty  in  raising  capital  enough 
to  outbid  his  rival.  Acting  cautiously  with  Jackson's 
help,  however,  he  found  two  men  who  had  lent  Davies 
money  and  were  now  frankly  alarmed  by  the  general 
fall  in  values.  One,  indeed,  was  willing  to  transfer 
his  interest  to  Harding  on  certain  terms  which  the 
latter  could  not  accept. 

He  was  thinking  over  these  matters  one  morning 
when,  to  his  surprise,  he  saw  Brand  crossing  the 

298 


THE  ADVENTURESS  299 

street  toward  him.  They  had  not  met  since  the  even- 
ing of  their  encounter  with  Davies  at  the  Grange,  and 
Harding  was  sensible  of  some  constraint.  Brand  was 
a  reserved  man  whom  he  had  neither  understood  nor 
liked,  but  he  had  thought  him  honorable  until  he 
learned  the  price  he  had  demanded  for  helping  Mow- 
bray. 

There  was  no  embarrassment  in  Brand's  manner. 
He  looked  as  cool  and  inscrutable  as  usual. 

"  I'm  rather  glad  we  have  met,"  he  said. 

"  I  thought  you  had  gone  back  to  the  Old  Coun- 
try," Harding  replied. 

"  No ;  I  find  it  harder  to  sell  my  farm  than  I  im- 
agined. The  settlement  covenant's  the  trouble,  and 
I  don't  feel  inclined  to  give  the  land  away.  I  want 
a  talk  with  you.  Will  you  come  to  my  hotel  ?  " 

Harding  agreed,  and  a  few  minutes  later  they  sat 
down  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  hotel  lounge. 

"  How's  your  campaign  against  the  moneylender 
progressing?"  Brand  began  abruptly. 

"  Then  you  know  something  about  it?  " 

"  I'm  not  a  fool.  I've  been  watching  the  game  with 
interest  for  some  time.  I  have  a  reason  for  asking; 
you  can  be  frank  with  me." 

Harding  knew  when  to  trust  a  man  and,  in  spite  of 
what  had  happened,  he  trusted  Brand.  When  he  had 
given  him  a  short  explanation,  Brand  seemed  satisfied. 

"  Very  well ;  now  I  have  something  to  say.  My 
prejudices  are  against  you ;  they're  on  Mowbray's  side, 
but  I'm  beginning  to  see  that  his  position  is  untenable. 
It  seems  I  can't  get  a  fair  price  for  my  farm,  and  after 
spending  some  happy  years  on  it,  I  have  a  sentimental 
affection  for  the  place.  Don't  know  that  I'd  care  to 


300        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

see  it  fall  into  the  hands  of  some  raw  English  lad 
whose  inexperience  would  be  a  danger  to  Allenwood. 
The  drift  of  all  this  is  —  will  you  work  the  land  for 
me  if  we  can  make  a  satisfactory  arrangement?  " 

Harding  hesitated. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  could  take  a  favor " 

"  From  me  ?  Don't  make  a  mistake.  I'm  not  act- 
ing out  of  any  personal  regard  for  you.  On  the  whole, 
I'd  rather  see  you  in  control  of  Allenwood  than  a 
mortgage  broker;  that's  all." 

"  Thanks !  On  that  understanding  we  might  come 
to  terms." 

"  Then  there's  another  matter.  Managing  my  farm 
won't  help  you  much,  and  I  feel  that  I  owe  something 
to  the  settlement.  If  it  looks  as  if  thp  moneylender 
would  be  too  strong  for  you,  and  you're  short  of 
funds,  you  can  write  to  me.  I  can  afford  to  spend 
something  on  Allenwood's  defense." 

They  talked  it  over,  and  when  Harding  left  the 
hotel  he  had  promised,  in  case  of  necessity,  to  ask 
Brand's  help.  Moreover,  although  he  had  not  ex- 
pected this,  he  felt  some  sympathy  and  a  half  reluctant 
liking  for  his  beaten  rival. 

During  the  same  day  Davies  had  a  confidential  talk 
with  Gerald. 

"  Do  you  know  that  your  mother  and  sister  are  in 
town  with  Harding?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  haven't  seen  them  yet." 

"  Rather  not  meet  Harding?  Are  you  pleased  that 
the  man's  going  to  marry  your  sister?  " 

"  I'm  not !  "  Gerald  answered  curtly. 

He  stopped  writing  and  frowned  at  the  book  in 
which  he  was  making  an  entry.  He  felt  very  bitter 


THE  ADVENTURESS  301 

against  Harding,  who  had  insulted  him,  but  he  was 
moved  by  a  deeper  and  less  selfish  feeling.  It  jarred 
upon  his  sense  of  fitness  that  his  sister  should  marry  a 
low-bred  fellow  with  whom  he  was  convinced  she  could 
not  live  happily.  Beatrice  had  lost  her  head,  but  she 
was  a  Mowbray  and  would  recover  her  senses ;  then  she 
would  rue  the  mistake  she  had  made.  She  might  re- 
sent Gerald's  interference  and  would,  no  doubt,  suffer 
for  a  time  if  he  succeeded  in  separating  her  from  her 
lover;  but  men,  as  he  knew,  got  over  an  irregular  pas- 
sion, and  he  had  no  reason  to  believe  that  women  were 
different. 

"  She  will  marry  him  unless  something  is  done," 
Davies  resumed  cunningly. 

"  What  is  that  to  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  think  you  can  guess  my  hand.  His  marry- 
ing your  sister  would  give  Harding  some  standing  at 
Allenwood,  and  he's  already  got  more  influence  there 
than  suits  me.  The  fellow's  dangerous;  I  hear  he's 
been  getting  at  one  or  two  of  the  men  who  backed  me. 
But  we'll  quit  fencing.  Do  you  want  to  stop  this 
match?" 

Although  he  had  fallen  very  low,  Gerald  felt  the 
humiliation  of  allowing  Davies  to  meddle  with  the 
Mowbray  affairs ;  but  he  overcame  ,his  repugnance,  be- 
cause the  man  might  be  of  help. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  shortly ;  "  but  I  don't  see  how 
it  can  be  stopped." 

"  You  knew  Coral  Stanton  in  your  more  prosperous 
days,  didn't  you?" 

Gerald  admitted  it.  Miss  Stanton  described  herself 
as  a  clairvoyante,  but  although  there  were  then  in  the 
Western  cities  ladies  of  her  profession  who  confined 


302        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

themselves  to  forecasting  the  changes  of  the  markets 
and  fortune-telling,  the  term  had  to  some  extent  be- 
come conventionalized  and  conveyed  another  meaning. 
Coral  had  arrived  in  Winnipeg  with  a  third-rate  opera 
company,  which  she  left  after  a  quarrel  with  the 
manager's  wife;  and  although  it  was  known  that 
gambling  for  high  stakes  went  on  in  her  consulting 
rooms,  she  had  for  a  time  avoided  trouble  with  the 
civic  authorities.  The  girl  was  of  adventurous  turn  of 
mind  and  was  marked  by  an  elfish  love  of  mischief. 

"  I  can't  see  what  my  knowing  Coral  has  to  do  with 
the  matter,"  Gerald  replied. 

"  Then  I'll  have  to  explain.     Things  have  been  going 
wrong  with  her  since  the  Ontario  lumber  man  was 
doped  in  her  rooms.     The  police  have  given  her  warn- 
ing, and  I  guess  she  wouldn't  stick  at  much  if  she 
saw  a  chance  of  earning  a  hundred  dollars  easily." 
"  What  d'you  suggest  that  she  should  do?  " 
"  If  you'll  listen  for  a  few  minutes,  I'll  tell  you." 
Davies  chuckled  as  he  unfolded  a  plan  that  appealed 
to  his  broad  sense  of  humor ;  but  Gerald  frowned.     Al- 
though likely  to  result  to  her  ultimate  benefit,  the  plot 
was,  in  the  first  place,  directed  against  his  sister.     It 
was  repugnant  in  several  ways,  but  he  thought  it  would 
work,  for  Beatrice,  like  his  mother,  had  Puritanical 
views.     Besides,  he  could  think  of  nothing  else. 
"  Well,"  he  said,  "  will  you  talk  to  Coral?  " 
"  Certainly     not,"     Davies     answered     cautiously ; 
"  that's  your  part  of  the  business.     I'll  put  up  the 
money." 

The    following   day   Harding   was   lunching   with 
Beatrice  and  her  mother  at  their  hotel,  when  the  wait- 


THE  ADVENTURESS  303 

ress  brought  him  a  note.  Beatrice,  sitting  next  to  him, 
noticed  that  it  was  addressed  in  a  woman's  hand  and 
was  heavily  scented.  Indeed,  there  was  something  she 
disliked  in  the  insidious  perfume.  She  watched  Hard- 
ing as  he  opened  the  envelope  and  saw  that  what  he  read 
disturbed  him.  This  struck  her  as  curious,  but  she  did 
not  see  the  note.  He  thrust  it  into  his  pocket  and 
began  to  talk  about  something  of  no  importance. 

Beatrice  thought  over  the  incident  during  the  after- 
noon, but  by  evening  she  had  banished  it  from  her 
mind.  After  dinner  they  sat  in  the  big  rotunda  of  the 
hotel.  Harding  was  unusually  quiet,  but  Beatrice 
scarcely  noticed  it,  for  she  was  interested  in  watching 
the  people  who  sauntered  in  and  out  through  the  re- 
volving glass  door.  They  were  of  many  different 
types:  wiry,  brown-faced  plainsmen;  silent,  grave- 
eyed  fellows  from  the  forest  belt;  smart  bank  clerks 
and  traders;  mechanics;  and  a  few  women.  One  or 
two  seemed  to  be  needy  adventurers,  but  they  came  and 
went  among  the  rest,  though  it  was  obvious  that  they 
could  not  be  staying  at  the  hotel. 

Beatrice's  attention  was  suddenly  attracted  by  a  girl 
who  came  in.  She  was  handsome,  dressed  in  the  ex- 
treme of  fashion,  and  marked  by  a  certain  rakish  bold- 
ness that  was  not  unbecoming.  Beatrice  was  struck 
by  the  darkness  of  her  hair  and  the  brilliance  of  her 
color,  until  she  saw  that  something  was  due  to  art; 
then  she  noticed  a  man  smile  at  another  as  he  indicated 
the  girl,  and  two  more  turn  and  look  after  her  when 
she  passed.  Thereupon  Beatrice  grew  pitiful,  ashamed 
and  angry,  for  she  could  not  tell  which  of  the  feelings 
predominated ;  and  she  wondered  why  the  hotel  people 


304        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

had  not  prevented  the  girl's  entrance.  She  was  pleased 
to  see  that  Harding  was  talking  to  a  man  who  had 
joined  him  and  had  noticed  nothing. 

Her  life  at  the  Grange  had  been  somewhat  austere, 
and  her  relatives  were  old-fashioned  people  of  high 
character  who  condemned  what  they  called  modern 
laxity.  For  all  that,  the  adventuress  roused  her 
curiosity,  and  she  watched  her  as  she  moved  about  the 
room.  She  drew  near  them,  and  Beatrice  thought  her 
eyes  rested  strangely  on  Harding  for  a  moment.  A 
strong  scent  floated  about  her  —  the  same  that  had 
perfumed  the  note.  Beatrice  was  startled,  but  she  tried 
to  persuade  herself  that  she  was  mistaken.  The  ad- 
venturess passed  on;  but  when  Harding' s  companion 
left  him  she  came  up  at  once  and  gave  him  an  inviting 
smile.  He  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  but  there  was  some 
color  in  his  face.  It  was  unthinkable  that  he  should 
know  the  girl,  but  she  stopped  beside  him. 

"  Craig,"  she  cooed,  "  you  don't  pretend  that  you've 
forgotten  me?  " 

Harding  looked  at  her  coldly. 

"  I  have  never  seen  you  before  in  my  life!  "  he  said 
emphatically. 

Coral  laughed,  and  Beatrice  noticed  the  music  in  her 
voice. 

"  Aw,  come  off !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  What  you  giv- 
ing us  ?  Guess  you've  been  getting  rich  and  turned  re- 
spectable." 

Harding  cast  a  quick  glance  round.  Beatrice  and 
Mrs.  Mowbray  sat  near,  and  it  would  be  difficult  to 
defend  himself  to  either.  The  girl  had  made  an  un- 
fortunate mistake,  or  perhaps  expected  to  find  him  an 


THE  ADVENTURESS  305 

easy  victim;  now  he  began  to  understand  the  note. 
The  blood  filled  his  face  and  he  looked  guilty  in  his 
embarrassment  and  anger,  for  he  saw  that  he  was 
helpless.  The  hotel  people  would  not  interfere;  and 
to  repulse  the  woman  rudely  or  run  away  from  her  was 
likely  to  attract  the  attention  he  wished  to  avoid. 

"  You  have  mistaken  me  for  somebody  else,"  he  re- 
plied uneasily. 

She  gave  him  a  coquettish  smile. 

"  Well,  I  *guess  you're  Craig  Harding  unless  you've 
changed  your  name  as  well  as  your  character.  I 
reckoned  you'd  come  back  to  me  when  I  heard  you  were 
in  town.  You  ought  to  feel  proud  I  came  to  look  for 
you,  when  you  didn't  answer  my  note." 

There  was  something  seductive  and  graceful  in  her 
mocking  courtesy,  but  Harding  lost  his  temper. 

"  I've  had  enough !  You  don't  know  me,  and  if  you 
try  to  play  this  fool  game  I'll  have  you  fired  out !  " 

"  That  to  an  old  friend  —  and  a  lady ! "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  You've  surely  lost  the  pretty  manners  that 
made  me  love  you." 

Harding  turned  in  desperation,  and  started  to  the 
door ;  but  she  followed,  putting  her  hand  on  his  shoul- 
der, and  some  of  the  bystanders  laughed.  Beatrice, 
quivering  with  the  shock,  hated  them  for  their  amuse- 
ment. Even  if  he  were  innocent,  Harding  had  placed 
himself  in  a  horribly  humiliating  position.  But  she 
could  not  think  him  innocent.  All  she  had  seen  and 
heard  condemned  him. 

Harding  shook  off  the  girl's  hand  and,  perhaps 
alarmed  by  the  look  he  gave  her,  she  left  him  and  soon 
afterward  disappeared,  but  when  he  returned  to  the 


306        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

table  Beatrice  and  her  mother  had  gone.  He  was  get- 
ting cool  again,  but  he  felt  crushed,  for  no  defense 
seemed  possible.  He  could  only  offer  a  blunt  denial 
which,  in  the  face  of  appearances,  could  hardly  be  be- 
lieved. 

He  left  the  hotel  and  spent  an  hour  walking  about 
the  city,  trying  to  think  what  he  must  do.  When  he 
returned  a  bell-boy  brought  him  word  that  Mrs.  Mow- 
bray  wished  to  see  him  in  the  drawing-room.  Harding 
went  up  and  found  the  room  unoccupied  except  by 
Beatrice  and  her  mother.  The  girl's  face  was  white, 
but  it  was  stern  and  she  had  her  father's  immovable 
look.  Rising  as  he  came  in,  she  stood  very  straight, 
holding  out  a  little  box. 

"  This  is  yours,"  she  said.  "  I  must  give  it  back 
to  you.  You  will  understand  what  that  means." 

Harding  took  the  box,  containing  the  ring  he  had 
given  her,  and  steadily  met  her  accusing  eyes,  though 
he  could  see  no  hope  for  him  in  them. 

"  I  suppose  there's  no  use  in  my  saying  that  it's  all  a 
mistake  or  a  wicked  plot?  " 

"  No ;  I'm  afraid  the  evidence  against  you  is  too 
strong."  She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  he  thought  he 
saw  some  sign  of  relenting.  "  Craig,"  she  begged,  in 
a  broken  voice,  "  do  go.  I  —  I  believed  in  you." 

"  You  have  no  reason  to  doubt  me  now." 

He  turned  to  Mrs.  Mowbray. 

"  Can't  you  be  persuaded  ?  I  give  you  my  solemn 
word " 

"Don't!"  Beatrice  interrupted.  "Don't  make  it 
worse! " 

"  I'm  sorry  I  must  agree  with  my  daughter's  decision 


THE  ADVENTURESS  307 

until  I  see  more  reason  to  change  it  than  I  can  hope 
for  at  present,"  Mrs.  Mowbray  replied.  "  It  would  be 
better  if  you  left  us.  We  return  to-morrow." 

Her  tone  was  final;  and,  with  a  last  glance  at  Bea- 
trice, Harding  went  out  dejectedly. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

FIRE  AND    HAIL 

ON  the  morning  after  her  return  from  Winnipeg, 
Beatrice  sat  in  her  father's  study,  with  Mowbray 
facing  her  across  the  table.  He  looked  thoughtful,  but 
not  so  shocked  and  indignant  as  she  had  expected. 

"  So  you  are  determined  to  throw  Harding  over !  " 

"  Yes,"  Beatrice  said  in  a  strained  voice.  "  It  seems 
impossible  to  do  anything  else." 

"  A  broken  engagement's  a  serious  matter;  we  Mow- 
brays  keep  our  word.  I  hope  you're  quite  sure  of  your 
ground." 

"  What  I  heard  left  no  room  for  doubt." 

"  Did  you  hear  the  man's  defense?  " 

"  I  refused  to  listen,"  said  Beatrice  coldly.  "  That 
he  should  try  to  excuse  himself  only  made  it  worse." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that's  very  logical.  I'll  confess  that 
Harding  and  I  seldom  agree,  but  one  must  be  fair." 

"  Does  that  mean  that  one  ought  to  be  lenient  ?  " 
Beatrice  asked  with  an  angry  sparkle  in  her  eyes. 

Mowbray  was  conscious  of  some  embarrassment. 
His  ideas  upon  the  subject  were  not  sharply  defined, 
but  if  it  had  not  been  his  daughter  who  questioned 
him  he  could  have  expressed  them  better.  Beatrice 
ought  to  have  left  her  parents  to  deal  with  a  delicate 
matter  like  this,  but  instead  she  had  boldly  taken  it 

308 


FIRE  AND  HAIL  309 

into  her  own  hands.  He  had  tried  to  bring  up  his 
children  well,  but  the  becoming  modesty  which  charac- 
terized young  women  in  his  youth  had  gone. 

"  No,"  he  answered ;  "  not  exactly  lenient.  But  the 
thing  may  not  be  so  bad  as  you  think  —  and  one  must 
make  allowances.  Then,  a  broken  engagement  reflects 
upon  both  parties.  Even  if  one  of  them  has  an  un- 
questionable grievance,  it  proves  that  that  person  acted 
very  rashly  in  making  a  promise  in  the  first  instance." 

"Yes,"  said  Beatrice;  "that  is  my  misfortune.  I 
was  rash  and  easily  deceived.  I  made  the  bargain  in 
confiding  ignorance,  without  reserve,  while  the  man 
kept  a  good  deal  back." 

"  But  your  mother  tells  me  that  he  declared  he  had 
never  seen  the  woman ;  and  Harding  is  not  a  liar." 

"  I  used  to  think  so,  but  it  looks  as  if  I  were  mis- 
taken," Beatrice  answered  bitterly  as  she  turned  away. 

Leaving  him,  she  found  a  quiet  spot  in  the  shadow 
of  a  bluff,  and  sat  down  to  grapple  with  her  pain.  It 
had  hurt  more  than  she  had  thought  possible  to  cast 
off  Harding,  and  she  could  bear  her  trouble  only  by 
calling  pride  to  her  aid.  There  was,  she  told  herself, 
much  about  the  man  that  had  from  the  first  offended 
her,  but  she  had  made  light  of  it,  believing  him  stead- 
fast and  honorable.  Now  she  knew  she  had  been  de- 
ceived. She  had  been  ready  to  throw  away  all  the 
privileges  of  her  station;  she  had  disregarded  her 
friends'  opinion  —  and  this  was  her  reward!  The 
man  for  whom  she  would  have  made  the  sacrifice  was 
gross  and  corrupt;  but  nobody  should  guess  that  she 
found  it  strangely  hard  to  forget  him. 

Lance  came  upon  her,  there  at  the  edge  of  the  woods ; 
but  her  head  was  buried  in  her  arms  and  she  did  not  see 


310        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

him.  The  boy  turned  at  once  and  went  to  have  a  talk 
with  his  father.  His  expression  was  very  resolute 
when  he  entered  Mowbray's  study. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  Bee's  trouble, 
sir?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

His  father  gave  him  an  amused  smile. 

"  I  haven't  decided,"  he  said.  "  Have  you  anything 
useful  to  suggest?  " 

"  I  feel  that  you  ought  to  put  it  right." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  how  ?  " 

"No.  Of  course,  it's  a  delicate  matter;  but  you 
have  a  wider  knowledge  and  experience." 

"  Umh !  "  the  Colonel  grunted.  "  Why  do  you  con- 
clude that  your  sister's  wrong?  " 

"  I  know  the  man.     He's  not  the  kind  she  thinks." 

"  Your  mother  saw  the  woman,  and  heard  what  she 
said." 

"  There's  been  a  mistake,"  Lance  persisted.  "  I've 
a  suspicion  that  somebody  may  have  put  her  up  to  it." 

"  Made  a  plot  to  blacken  Harding,  you  mean  ? 
Rather  far-fetched,  isn't  it  ?  Whom  do  you  suspect  ?  " 

Lance  turned  red,  for  his  father's  tone  was  sarcastic, 
and  he  thought  of  Gerald ;  but  he  could  not  drop  a  hint 
against  his  brother. 

"  I  don't  know  yet,  but  I'm  going  to  find  out." 

"  When  you  have  found  out,  you  can  tell  me,"  Mow- 
bray  answered,  and  gave  the  boy  an  approving  smile. 
"  You're  quite  right  in  standing  by  your  friend,  and 
you  certainly  owe  Harding  something.  If  you  can 
prove  him  better  than  we  think,  nobody  will  be  more 
pleased  than  I." 

Lance  had  to  be  satisfied  with  this.     He  did  not 


FIRE  AND  HAIL  311 

know  how  to  set  about  his  investigations,  but  he  deter- 
mined to  visit  Winnipeg  as  soon  as  he  could. 

For  the  next  week  or  two  there  was  quietness  at  the 
Grange.  The  dry  weather  held,  and  boisterous  winds 
swept  the  sunburned  plain.  The  sod  cracked,  the 
wheat  was  shriveling,  and  although  in  public  men  and 
women  made  a  brave  pretense  of  cheerfulness,  in  pri- 
vate they  brooded  over  the  ruin  that  threatened  them. 
To  make  things  worse,  three  or  four  days  a  week, 
heavy  clouds  that  raced  across  the  sky  all  morning 
gathered  in  solid  banks  at  noon,  and  then,  as  if  in  mock- 
ery, broke  up  and  drove  away.  Few  of  the  settlers 
had  much  reserve  capital,  and  the  low  prices  obtained 
for  the  last  crop  had  strained  their  finances ;  but  Hard- 
ing was,  perhaps,  threatened  most. 

He  had,  as  had  been  his  custom,  boldly  trusted  to  the 
earth  all  he  had  won  by  previous  effort,  and  this  year 
it  looked  as  if  the  soil  would  refuse  its  due  return. 
Still,  his  taking  such  a  risk  was  only  partly  due  to  the 
prompting  of  his  sanguine  temperament.  While  he 
had  hope  of  winning  Beatrice  he  must  stake  his  all 
on  the  chance  of  gaining  influence  and  wealth.  He 
had  lost  her;  but  after  a  few  black  days  during  which 
he  had  thought  of  abandoning  the  struggle  and  letting 
things  drift,  he  quietly  resumed  his  work.  What  he 
had  begun  must  be  finished,  even  if  it  brought  no 
advantage  to  himself.  The  disaster  that  seemed  un- 
avoidable braced  him  to  sterner  effort ;  but  when  dusk 
settled  down  he  stood  in  the  dim  light  and  brooded 
over  his  withering  wheat.  Being  what  he  was,  a  man 
of  constructive  genius,  it  cut  deep  that  he  must  watch 
the  grain  that  had  cost  so  much  thought  and  toil  go  to 


312        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

waste;  but  the  red  band  on  the  prairie's  edge  and  the 
luminous  green  above  it  held  only  a  menace. 

One  day  Harding  drove  with  Devine  to  a  distant 
farm,  and  they  set  out  on  the  return  journey  late  in  the 
afternoon.  It  was  very  hot,  for  the  wind  had  died 
away,  and  deep  stillness  brooded  over  the  lifeless  plain. 
The  gophers  that  made  their  burrows  in  the  trail  had 
lost  their  usual  briskness,  and  sat  up  on  their  haunches 
until  the  wheels  were  almost  upon  them.  The  prairie- 
chickens  the  horses  disturbed  would  not  rise,  but  ran  a 
few  yards  and  sank  down  in  the  parched  grass.  The 
sky  was  leaden,  and  the  prairie  glimmered  a  curious, 
livid  white.  Harding's  skin  prickled,  and  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  black  depression  and  a  headache. 

"  If  this  only  meant  rain!  "  he  exclaimed  dejectedly. 
"  But  I've  given  up  hope." 

"  Something's  surely  coming,"  Devine  replied,  glan- 
cing at  a  great  bank  of  cloud  that  had  changed  its  color 
to  an  oily  black.  "If  this  weather  holds  for  another 
week,  the  crop  will  be  wiped  out,  but  somehow  I  can't 
believe  we'll  all  go  broke." 

Harding  had  once  thought  as  his  comrade  did,  but 
now  his  optimistic  courage  had  deserted  him.  The 
future  was  very  dark.  He  meant  to  fight  on,  but  de- 
feat seemed  certain.  It  would  be  easier  to  bear  be- 
cause he  had  already  lost  what  he  valued  most. 

Presently  the  wagon  wheels  sank  in  yielding  sand, 
and  that  roused  him. 

"  Our  hauling  costs  us  high  with  these  loose  trails. 
I'd  counted  on  cutting  more  straw  with  the  crop  this 
year  and  using  it  to  bind  the  road.  But  now  we  may 
not  have  any  grain  to  send  out." 

The  plan  was  characteristic  of  him,  though  his  de- 


FIRE  AND  HAIL  313 

j  action  was  not.  As  a  rule,  straw  has  no  value  in  a 
newly  opened  country,  and  not  much  is  cut  with  the 
grain,  the  tall  stubble  being  burned  off;  but  Harding 
had  seen  a  use  for  the  waste  material  in  improving  the 
means  of  transport. 

"Well,"  said  Devine,  "we'd  better  hustle.  The 
team  won't  stand  for  a  storm." 

Harding  urged  the  horses,  and  as  the  wheels  ran  out 
on  firm  ground  the  pace  grew  faster,  and  a  distant  bluff 
began  to  rise  from  the  waste.  When  they  were  a  mile 
or  two  from  the  woods  there  was  a  rumble  of  thunder 
and  the  light  grew  dim.  The  dark  sky  seemed  de- 
scending to  meet  the  earth,  the  bluff  grew  indistinct, 
but  the  burned  grass  still  retained  its  ghostly  white- 
ness. Then  the  temperature  suddenly  fell,  and  when 
a  puff  of  cold  wind  touched  his  face  Harding  used  the 
whip.  He  knew  what  was  going  to  happen. 

Throwing  up  their  heads  in  alarm  as  a  pale  flash 
glimmered  across  the  trail,  the  team  broke  into  a  gallop, 
while  the  light  wagon  rocked  and  swung  as  the  wheels 
jolted  over  hummocks  and  smashed  through  scrubby 
brush.  Harding  did  not  think  he  could  hold  the  horses 
in  the  open  when  the  storm  broke,  and  he  did  not  wish 
to  be  hurled  across  the  rugged  prairie  behind  a  bolting 
team.  Springing  down  when  they  reached  the  trees, 
he  and  Devine  locked  the  wheels  and  then  stood  wait- 
ing at  the  horses'  heads.  All  was  now  very  still  again, 
but  a  gray  haze  was  closing  in.  Now  and  then  leaves 
stirred  and  rustled,  and  once  or  twice  a  dry  twig 
came  down.  The  faint  crackle  it  made  jarred  on  the 
men's  tingling  nerves. 

Harding  found  it  difficult  to  keep  still.  He  slowly 
filled  his  pipe  for  the  sake  of  occupation.  The  match 


HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

he  struck  burned  steadily,  but  its  pale  flame  was  sud- 
denly lost  in  a  dazzling  glare  as  the  lightning  fell  in  an 
unbroken  fork  from  overhead  to  a  corner  of  the  bluff. 
Then  the  pipe  dropped  and  was  trodden  on,  as  the  men 
swayed  to  and  fro,  using  all  their  strength  to  hold  the 
plunging  team.  It  was  only  for  a  moment  they  heard 
the  battering  hoofs,  for  a  deafening  crash  that  rolled 
across  the  heavens  drowned  all  other  sound,  and  as  it 
died  away  the  trees  began  to  moan.  A  few  large  drops 
of  rain  fell,  and  then,  as  the  men  watched  it,  gathering 
a  faint  hope,  the  rain  turned  to  hail.  A  savage  wind 
struck  the  bluff,  the  air  got  icy  cold,  and  the  hail 
changed  from  fine  grains  to  ragged  lumps.  Harding 
could  hear  it  roar  among  the  trees  between  the  peals  of 
thunder,  until  the  scream  of  wind  and  the  groan  of 
bending  branches  joined  in  and  formed  a  wild  tumult 
of  sound. 

Though  the  men  stood  to  lee  of  the  woods,  the  hail 
found  them  out,  bruising  their  faces  and  cutting  their 
wet  hands;  even  their  bodies  afterward  felt  as  if  they 
had  been  beaten.  It  raked  the  bluff  like  rifle-fire,  cut- 
ting twigs  and  shredding  leaves,  and  the  wild  wind 
swept  the  wreckage  far  to  leeward.  Light  branches 
were  flying,  and  Harding  was  struck,  but  his  grapple 
with  the  maddened  horses  demanded  all  his  thought. 
The  lightning  leaped  about  them  and  blazed  through 
the  woods,  silhouetting  bending  trees  and  the  horses' 
tense,  wet  bodies,  before  it  vanished  and  left  what 
seemed  to  be  black  darkness  behind. 

Then,  when  the  men  were  getting  exhausted,  the 
thunder  grew  fainter  and  the  bitter  wind  died  away. 
There  was  a  strange,  perplexing  stillness  in  the  heavy 
gloom,  until  the  cloud-ranks  parted  and  a  ray  of  silver 


FIRE  AND  HAIL  315 

light  broke  through.  The  grass  steamed  as  the  beam 
moved  across  it,  and  suddenly  the  bluff  was  warm  and 
bright,  and  they  could  see  the  havoc  that  had  been 
made. 

Torn  branches  hung  from  the  poplars,  slender  birch- 
twigs  lay  in  heaps,  and  banks  of  hail,  now  changing 
fast  to  water,  stretched  out  into  the  wet,  sparkling 
plain. 

Harding's  face  was  very  stern  as  he  picked  up  a 
handful  of  the  icy  pieces. 

"  With  a  strong  wind  behind  it,  this  stuff  would  cut 
like  a  knife,"  he  said.  "  Well,  it  has  saved  our  putting 
the  binders  into  the  grain." 

Devine  made  a  sign  of  gloomy  agreement.  There 
was  no  hope  left;  the  crop  they  had  expected  much 
from  was  destroyed. 

They  clambered  into  the  wagon  and  drove  for  some 
time  before  the  first  farmstead  began  to  lift  above  the 
edge  of  the  plain.  In  the  meanwhile  the  hail  that 
glistened  in  the  grass  tussocks  melted  away,  and  only 
a  few  dark  clouds  drifting  to  the  east  marred  the  tran- 
quillity of  the  summer  evening.  The  men  were  silent, 
but  Devine  understood  why  his  comrade  drove  so  hard, 
holding  straight  across  dry  sloos  where  the  tall  grass 
crackled  about  the  wheels,  and  over  billowy  rises  where 
the  horses'  feet  sank  deep  in  "sand.  He  was  anxious 
to  learn  the  worst,  and  Devine  feared  that  it  would 
prove  very  bad. 

At  last  they  crossed  a  higher  ridge  and  Harding, 
looking  down,  saw  his  homestead  lying  warm  in  the 
evening  light.  He  had  often  watched  it  rise  out  of  the 
prairie,  with  a  stirring  of  his  blood.  It  was  his ;  much 
of  it  had  been  built  by  his  own  labor;  and  he  had  won 


316        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

from  the  desolate  waste  the  broad  stretch  of  fertile  soil 
that  rolled  away  behind  it.  But  he  now  gazed  at  it 
with  a  frown.  As  the  buildings  grew  into  shape,  dark 
patches  of  summer  fallow  broke  the  gray  sweep  of 
grass,  and  then  the  neutral  green  of  alfalfa  and  clover, 
running  in  regular  oblongs,  appeared.  Behind,  ex- 
tending right  across  the  background,  lay  the  wheat,  a 
smear  of  indefinite  color  darker  than  the  plain.  That 
was  all  they  could  see  of  it  at  that  distance.  They 
were  going  fast,  but  Harding  lashed  the  horses  in  his 
impatience. 

Devine,  however,  looked  more  closely  about,  and 
it  struck  him  that  the  ground  had  dried  with  remark- 
able rapidity;  indeed,  if  he  had  not  felt  the  hail,  he 
could  hardly  have  believed  the  plain  had  been  wet. 
For  all  that,  not  venturing  to  hope  for  fear  of  meeting 
a  heavier  shock,  he  said  nothing  to  his  comrade,  and 
presently  they  dipped  into  a  hollow.  They  could  not 
see  across  the  ridge  in  front,  and  Harding  urged  his 
horses  savagely  when  they  came  to  the  ascent.  The 
animals'  coats  were  foul,  spume  dripped  from  the  bits, 
and  their  sides  were  white  where  the  traces  slapped,  but 
they  breasted  the  hill  pluckily.  The  men  were  grim 
and  highly  strung,  braced  to  meet  the  worst.  To 
Harding  it  meant  ruin  and  the  downfall  of  all  his 
plans;  to  Devine  his  wedding  put  off.  It  might  be 
some  years  before  he  made  good,  and  he  feared  that 
he  could  no  longer  count  on  his  comrade's  help.  If 
Harding  were  forced  to  give  up  his  farm,  he  might 
leave  the  prairie. 

At  last,  when  the  suspense  was  telling  upon  both, 
they  reached  the  summit  and  Harding  stood  up  to  see 
better. 


FIRE  AND  HAIL  317 

"  Why,  the  ground  has  not  been  wet ! "  he  ex- 
claimed, unbelieving.  "  The  hail  has  not  touched  us !  " 

It  was  true;  the  fire  and  the  ragged  ice  had  passed 
over  that  belt  of  prairie  and  left  its  wake  of  ruin 
farther  on.  Still,  though  the  wheat  was  none  the 
worse,  it  was  none  the  better.  It  stood  as  when  they 
had  seen  it  last,  limp  from  drought  and  cut  by  blowing 
sand.  Disaster  was  only  suspended,  not  removed. 
But  there  was  hope. 

"Things  don't  look  half  so  bad  as  they  might!" 
said  Harding  cheerfully.  "  I  don't  deserve  it.  I  got 
savage  and  bitter ;  and  bitterness  is  a  bad  substitute  for 
grit.  Now  I'll  brace  up,  and  face  the  future  the  way  a 
man  ought ! " 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A    BRAVE    HEART 

THREE  days  passed,  and  still  no  rain  fell  to  save 
the  withering  grain.  On  the  evening  of  the 
fourth  day,  Beatrice  was  walking  home  alone  from  one 
of  the  neighboring  farms.  She  was  lost  in  painful 
thought  and  scarcely  noticed  where  she  was  until  she 
passed  a  clump  of  prominent  trees  which  she  knew  was 
at  the  edge  of  Harding' s  place.  Then  she  stopped  and 
looked  about  her. 

The  sun  had  dipped,  but  an  angry  orange  glow 
flushed  the  wide  horizon  and  the  sky  overhead  was  a 
cold  dark  blue.  The  great  sweep  of  grain  caught  the 
fading  light,  and  Beatrice  knew  enough  about  farming 
to  see  how  it  had  suffered.  She  could  not  look  at  it 
unmoved;  the  sight  was  pitiful.  The  wheat  had  cost 
long  and  patient  labor,  and  she  knew  with  what  hope 
and  ambition  the  man  who  had  sown  it  had  worked. 
It  was  only  after  years  of  strenuous  toil,  careful 
thought,  and  stern  economy,  that  he  had  been  able  to 
break  the  broad  belt  of  prairie,  and  in  doing  so  he  had 
boldly  staked  his  all.  Now  it  looked  as  if  he  had  lost, 
and  she  was  grieved  to  see  so  much  effort  thrown  away. 

Harding  had  transgressed,  but  the  work  he  did  was 
good,  and  Beatrice  began  to  wonder  how  far  that 
might  atone  for  his  lack  of  principle.  Human  charac- 
ter was  mixed ;  men  might  be  true  in  many  ways,  and 

318 


A  BRAVE  HEART  319 

yet  fall  victims  to  a  besetting  sin.  But  it  was  a  sin 
Beatrice  could  not  forgive.  Harding  had  sought  the 
other  woman  while  he  professed  his  love  for  her.  In 
Beatrice,  pride,  fastidiousness,  and  Puritanical  convic- 
tions converged. 

Letting  her  eyes  travel  farther  along  the  grain,  she 
started  as  she  saw  him.  He  had  not  noticed  her,  for 
he  stood  looking  at  his  crop.  His  figure  was  outlined 
against  the  last  of  the  light,  and  his  pose  was  slack 
and  stamped  with  dejection.  It  was  obvious  that  he 
thought  himself  alone,  for  Harding  was  not  the  man 
to  betray  his  troubles. 

Beatrice's  heart  suddenly  filled  with  pity.  He  must 
be  very  hard  hit;  and  she  believed  that  it  was  not  the 
loss  of  fortune  he  felt  most.  Everything  had  gone 
against  him.  One  could  not  refuse  a  man  compassion 
because  his  sin  had  found  him  out. 

To  her  surprise,  she  felt  that  she  must  speak  to  him. 
She  did  not  know  what  she  meant  to  say,  but,  half 
hesitating,  she  moved  forward.  Harding  looked  round 
at  her  step,  and  the  fading  glow  struck  upon  his  face. 

It  was  brown  and  thin,  and  marked  by  a  great  physi- 
cal weariness.  The  toil  he  had  borne  since  the  thaw 
came  and  the  suspense  he  had  suffered  had  set  their 
stamp  on  him;  he  looked  fined  down,  his  face  had  an 
ascetic  cast. 

Beatrice  caught  her  breath.  By  some  strange  in- 
ward power  she  grasped  the  truth.  This  man  had  done 
no  wrong ;  there  was  no  deceit  in  him.  What  she  had 
believed  of  him  was  impossible !  All  that  she  had  seen 
and  heard  condemned  him ;  there  was  no  weak  point  in 
the  evidence  of  his  guilt ;  but  she  trusted  the  prompting 
of  her  heart.  Calm  judgment  and  logical  reasoning 


320        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

had  no  place  in  this  matter.  She  had  wronged  him. 
And  how  she  must  have  hurt  him ! 

She  held  out  both  her  hands,  and  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes. 

"  Craig,"  she  said,  "  I've  come  back.  I  couldn't 
stay  away." 

Harding  could  not  speak.  He  took  her  into  his  arms 
—  and  suddenly  the  earth  seemed  to  be  giving  way 
under  his  feet;  his  brain  reeled  and  a  great  blackness 
settled  down  over  him. 

"Why,  you're  ill!"  Beatrice  exclaimed.  "Oh,  I 
have  brought  you  to  this !  " 

The  anguish  in  her  cry  cut  through  him  as  he  was 
losing  consciousness,  and  he  pulled  himself  together. 

"  No,"  he  smiled,  "  I'm  not  ill ;  but  you  must  give  me 
a  moment  to  realize  that  I  really  have  you  again." 

They  walked  back  the  few  paces  to  the  trail.  An  old 
log  lay  beside  it,  half  buried  in  grass  and  wild  flowers, 
and  here  they  sat  together,  in  the  cool  stillness  of  the 
dusk,  until  the  darkness  came  down  and  hovered  round 
them.  Out  of  the  early  night  sky,  one  star  shone  down 
on  them,  like  a  blessing. 

For  the  time  being,  it  was  nothing  to  them  that  the 
prairie  sod  was  cracked  and  parched,  and  that  the  des- 
troying wind  would  rise  again  at  dawn. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  Grange,  Beatrice  brought  up 
the  subject  which  she  felt  must  be  talked  of  and  then 
dropped  for  good. 

"  How  dreadfully  mistaken  I  was  about  —  the 
girl !  "  she  said,  hesitatingly. 

"  How  did  you  find  it  out?  " 

"I  haven't  really  found  out  anything;  I'm  afraid  I 


A  BRAVE  HEART  321 

can't  explain.  I  suddenly  saw  the  truth,  and  won- 
dered why  I  had  been  blind." 

"  Do  you  mean " 

"  I  mean  that  I  should  never  have  left  you,  Craig 
dear.  I  know  that  you  never  saw  that  girl  before  in 
your  life  —  but  I  did  not  know  it  until  I  saw  you  stand- 
ing there,  in  the  wheat,  this  evening." 

Harding  dropped  the  hand  he  was  holding,  and 
caught  her  to  him. 

"  Dear !  "  was  all  he  said. 

"Can  you  explain  what  happened  in  Winnipeg?" 
she  asked  as  they  walked  on  again. 

"  No;  I'm  puzzled.  But,  for  your  sake,  I  shall  not 
rest  until  I've  cleared  myself."  Then,  with  a  sudden 
shock,  he  remembered  the  wheat  they  had  left.  "  But 
I  was  forgetting  —  I  may  be  a  ruined  man." 

"  And  I  the  daughter  of  another,"  Beatrice  answered 
with  a  smile.  "  That  could  make  no  difference,  Craig ; 
and  we're  not  ruined  yet.  Still,  because  I  was  hard 
and  unjust  at  first,  I  should  like  you  to  remember  that  I 
came  to  you  when  you  were  in  trouble,  and  didn't  ask 
whether  you  were  innocent  or  not." 

"  I'll  remember  it,"  said  Harding,  "  as  long  as  I  live." 

When  they  reached  the  house,  Mowbray  and  his  wife 
were  sitting  on  the  veranda,  and  Lance  came  down  the 
steps  to  meet  them  with  his  hand  held  out.  Neither 
spoke,  but  Harding  was  touched  by  the  sincerity  of  his 
welcome. 

Beatrice  ran  up  the  steps  to  her  mother,  and  Harding, 
after  a  word  of  greeting  turned  away.  He  felt  that, 
until  he  had  cleared  himself,  it  would  be  more  becoming 
in  him  to  keep  away  from  the  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Mow- 
bray. 


322        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

The  next  morning  Mowbray  called  Beatrice  into  his 
study. 

"  I  am  glad  that  your  confidence  in  Harding  has  re- 
turned," he  said.  "  You  must,  however,  understand 
that  the  situation  is  still  awkward." 

"  Yes;  Craig  and  I  talked  it  over  last  night." 

"  You  talked  this  matter  over !  "  Mowbray  exclaimed. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Beatrice  calmly.  "  It's  of  some 
importance  to  me.  Are  you  surprised  ?  " 

"  I  must  admit  that  I  am.  When  I  was  young,  a 
well-brought-up  girl  would  hardly  have  ventured  to 
mention  such  subjects  to  her  mother,  much  less  discuss 
them  with  her  lover." 

Beatrice  smiled  at  him. 

"  I'm  afraid  your  feelings  must  get  many  a  rude  jar 
in  these  degenerate  times.  Still,  you  know  things  are 
changing." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Mowbray.  "  I've  had  cause  to 
realize  it  of  late.  For  example,  your  brother  Lance 
goes  off  to  Winnipeg  on  some  mysterious  business  with- 
out consulting  me,  and  only  tells  me  in  a  casual  man- 
ner that  he  may  have  to  go  again.  Respect  for  parents 
is  not  a  characteristic  of  your  generation.  But  I  want 
to  speak  about  Harding." 

He  talked  very  kindly  and  shrewdly,  and  when  Bea- 
trice left  him  she  sought  her  favorite  place  in  the 
shadow  of  a  nearby  bluff  to  think  over  what  he  had 
said. 

There  was  less  wind  for  the  next  two  days,  and  driv- 
ing sand  no  longer  raked  the  grain.  From  early  morn- 
ing dingy  clouds  rolled  up  slowly  from  the  west,  and 
though  not  a  drop  of  rain  fell  the  distance  grew  blurred. 
The  horses  on  the  range  were  restless  and  galloped  f  uri- 


A  BRAVE  HEART  323 

ously  now  and  then ;  the  gophers  scurried  up  and  down 
the  trails;  men  at  work  grew  impatient  over  trifling 
obstacles,  and  often  stopped  to  watch  the  clouds. 
These  rolled  on  and  vanished  in  the  east,  while  many 
an  anxious  farmer  wondered  when  the  last  would  rise 
from  the  horizon  and  leave  the  pitiless  sky  uncovered 
Again.  Thirsty  wild  creatures  stirred  in  the  shadow 
of  the  bluffs  and  rustled  through  the  withered  grass 
beside  the  dried-up  creeks.  Leaves  fluttered  and  hung 
still  again  with  a  strange  limpness,  their  under  sides 
exposed.  It  was  as  if  the  sun-scorched  waste  and  all 
that  lived  on  it  were  panting  for  the  rain.  And  still 
the  clouds  that  never  broke  rolled  slowly  on. 

At  dusk  on  the  second  evening,  Beatrice  and  Harding 
walked  across  the  prairie,  speaking  in  low  voices, 
anxious  and  yet  serene. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Craig?  "  Beatrice  asked 
presently. 

"Of  the  weather,"  Harding  answered.  " Wonder- 
ing if  these  clouds  will  break  or  clear  away  again.  If 
looks  as  if  our  future  hung  upon  the  chance  of  a  storm. 
If  it  doesn't  come,  there's  a  long  uphill  fight  before  us ; 
and  I  hate  to  think  of  what  you  may  have  to  bear." 

"  I'm  not  afraid,"  said  Beatrice.  "  If  I  stayed  at 
Allenwood,  I  should  not  escape.  Perhaps  I  have 
missed  something  by  getting  through  life  too  easily. 
I  really  don't  think  I'm  much  weaker,  or  less  capable, 
than  Effie  Broadwood,  and  she's  not  cast  down." 

Harding  kissed  the  hand  he  held. 

"  A  brave  heart  like  yours  carries  one  a  long  way, 
but  training  and  experience  are  needed.  Grit  alone  is 
not  much  use  when  you're  up  against  a  thing  you  don't 
know  how  to  do." 


324        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

"  It  helps  you  to  learn.  Am  I  so  very  stupid  ? 
Don't  you  see,  dear,  that  I  want  to  prove  that  I  can 
be  useful?" 

"  To  carry  heavy  pails,  bake,  and  mend  old  overalls  ? 
That  would  be  an  unthinkable  waste  of  fine  material. 
It's  your  business  to  be  your  beautiful  and  gracious 
self,  a  refining  influence,  a  light  in  the  home !  " 

Beatrice  laughed. 

"  I'm  afraid  when  you  think  about  me  you  lose  your 
usual  sense.  I  should  be  as  useful  if  I  were  made  of 
painted  wax,  and  you'd  get  tired  of  your  goddess  some 
day  and  want  to  break  me  up.  I'm  alive,  you  know. 
I  want  to  be  in  the  midst  of  the  strife.  I  hear  the 
bugles  call." 

Harding  kissed  her  tenderly. 

"  I'm  afraid  we'll  have  to  fall  in  with  the  firing  line, 
but  it  will  be  my  business  to  shield  you  from  harm,"  he 
said. 

"  It's  a  good  fight,"  she  answered  with  sparkling 
eyes ;  "  you  have  taught  me  that.  The  flag  goes  stead- 
ily forward  with  the  pioneers  in  the  van.  There  are 
great  alkali  barrens,  rocks,  and  muskegs  to  be  over- 
come, arid  plains  to  be  watered,  forests  cleared,  the 
waste  places  to  be  made  fruitful.  That's  why  we  have 
painted  the  Beaver  of  Industry  in  the  field.  But  we 
have  our  camp-followers  —  and  I  might  have  been  one 
—  useless  idlers,  grafters,  and  dishonest  contractors 
who  rob  the  fighting  men." 

"  When  we've  broken  the  wilderness,  we'll  have  time 
to  deal  with  them ;  but  I'm  afraid  many  a  pioneer  will 
go  down  before  we  march  much  farther." 

"Ah!"   said  Beatrice  softly.     "But  whether  the 


A  BRAVE  HEART  325 

fight  is  hard  or  not,  you  must  teach  me  to  do  my  part." 

She  stopped,  holding  out  her  hands  with  an  excited 
cry: 

"  The  rain,  Craig;  the  rain!  " 

Her  hands  felt  wet,  something  drummed  upon  her 
broad  straw  hat,  and  the  dust  leaped  up  from  the  grass ; 
then  the  quick  patter  ceased,  and  there  was  stillness 
again.  It  lasted  for  several  minutes  while  both  stood 
tense  and  still,  scarcely  venturing  to  hope.  Then  there 
was  a  roar  in  the  distance  and  a  puff  of  cool  wind,  and 
Harding,  touching  the  girl's  arm,  hurried  her  for- 
ward. 

"  It's  coming !  "  he  said  hoarsely.  "  Coming  in 
earnest ! " 

"  Oh,  let's  stay !  "  cried  Beatrice.  "  I  want  to  feel 
it's  true ! " 

Harding  laughed,  but  led  her  on,  and  presently  they 
met  the  advancing  rain.  It  beat,  wonderfully  refresh- 
ing, on  their  hot  faces,  and  soon  Beatrice's  thin  dress 
was  soaked.  Steam  rose  from  the  parched  earth ;  there 
was  a  hothouse  smell,  a  dull  roar,  and  a  rustle  among 
the  beaten  grass,  and  the  fading  light  was  shut  off  by  a 
curtain  of  falling  water.  Alternating  between  happy 
laughter  and  silence,  during  which  their  thankfulness 
became  too  deep  for  speech,  they  hurried  toward  Hard- 
ing's  farm,  and  Beatrice  threw  her  arms  round  Hester's 
neck  when  she  met  her  at  the  door. 

"  Oh ! "  she  cried.  "  Our  troubles  are  over !  The 
rain!  The  rain!" 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE   INHERITANCE 

THE  rain  lasted  several  days  and  saved  the  crops : 
the  wheat,   although  somewhat  damaged,  was 
ripening  fast. 

As  Lance  drove  home  from  one  of  his  mysterious 
absences  from  the  Grange,  he  looked  out  over  the 
rippling  fields  with  a  sense  of  thankfulness  in  his  boy- 
ish heart.  Harding  was  not  to  be  ruined  after  all! 
The  rain  had  saved  his  fortune ;  and  in  Lance's  pocket 
there  was  a  paper  that  would  clear  his  name. 

Beatrice  met  him  on  the  steps,  but  he  brushed  past 
her  with  a  smile  and  hurried  to  his  father's  study, 
where  he  knew  he  would  find  the  Colonel. 

"  I've  been  away  several  times,  and  now  I  must  tell 
you  why,  sir,"  he  said.  "  You  will  remember  that 
I've  declared  my  belief  in  Harding  all  along." 

"  I've  no  doubt  he  feels  properly  grateful,"  Mow- 
bray  remarked. 

"  I'm  grateful  to  him.  And  now  I  have  some  satis- 
faction in  being  able  to  prove  his  innocence.  Read 
this." 

He  gave  his  father  a  note,  and  Mowbray  read  it 
aloud : 

' '  I  hereby  declare  that  Craig  Harding  of  Allen- 
wood  is  a  stranger  to  me.     I  met  him  for  the  first  and 

326 


THE  INHERITANCE  327 

only  time  at  the  Rideau  Hotel,  Winnipeg,  and  I  regret 
that  I  then  claimed  his  acquaintance.' " 

"  It  sounds  conclusive.  I  see  it's  signed  '  Coral 
Stanton,  clairvoyante.'  May  I  ask  how  you  came  to 
meet  this  lady  and  get  the  document  ?  " 

"  Both  things  needed  some  tact,  sir,"  Lance  an- 
swered with  a  grin. 

"  So  I  should  imagine.  Rather  a  delicate  business 
for  one  so  young.  You  must  have  seen  that  your 
motives  were  liable  to  be  misunderstood." 

Lance  colored. 

"  I  had  to  take  the  risk.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  things 
threatened  to  become  embarrassing  at  first.  However, 
I  got  the  statement." 

"  What  did  you  give  for  it?  " 

"A  hundred  dollars;  what  Miss  Stanton  was 
promised." 

"  Then  she  was  hired  to  act  a  part  ?  But  what  made 
her  willing  to  betray  her  employers  ?  " 

"  They  deserved  it,"  Lance  answered  in  a  curious 
tone.  "  It  seems  she  got  into  difficulties  with  the 
police  and  had  to  leave  the  town;  the  clairvoyante 
business  was  only  a  blind,  and  somebody  was  robbed 
after  gambling  at  her  rooms.  The  men  who  made  the 
plot  took  a  shabby  advantage  of  the  situation." 

"  Do  you  know  their  names  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lance,  hesitatingly.  "  If  you  don't 
mind,  sir,  I'd  rather  not  mention  them." 

Mowbray  looked  at  him  keenly,  and  then  made  a  sign 
of  stern  agreement. 

"  Perhaps  that's  best."  He  was  silent  for  a  few 
moments,  grappling  with  this  new  pain  that  seared  him 
to  the  heart.  So  Gerald  had  sunk  to  this !  "  Leave 


328        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

the  paper  here,  and  send  Beatrice  to  me,"  he  said  slowly. 

Lance  was  glad  to  escape.  He  found  Beatrice  with 
her  mother,  and  she  and  Mrs.  Mowbray  went  at  once 
to  the  Colonel's  study. 

"  Your  brother  took  some  trouble  to  get  this  for 
you,"  Mowbray  said,  handing  her  the  statement,  which 
she  read  in  silence. 

"  I  will  thank  Lance ;  but  this  note  really  makes  no 
difference,"  she  declared. 

"  That's  hard  to  understand." 

"  I  had  Craig's  word.  If  I  had  doubted  him,  would 
I  have  believed  this  woman  ?  But  there's  another  mat- 
ter I  want  to  speak  of.  Craig  didn't  want  me  to,  but 
he  gave  me  permission." 

Taking  out  the  photographs  Harding  had  shown  her, 
she  handed  them  to  Mowbray.  Mrs.  Mowbray,  look- 
ing over  his  shoulder,  uttered  an  exclamation.  The 
Colonel,  too,  was  startled. 

"  That's  Ash  Garth,  with  Janet  Harding  on  the 
steps!  Where  did  you  get  them?  What  does  it 
mean  ?  " 

Instead  of  answering,  the  girl  glanced  at  her  mother. 

"  I  think  it's  quite  plain,"  Mrs.  Mowbray  said. 
"  Beatrice  is  engaged  to  Basil  Harding's  son." 

"  Why  was  I  not  told  before?  "  Mowbray  asked  ex- 
citedly. "  He's  as  well  born  as  you  are !  Can't  you 
see  how  it  alters  things?  " 

"  Craig  declares  it  makes  no  difference  —  and  I'm 
beginning  to  agree  with  him." 

"  That's  absurd !  "  Mowbray  exclaimed.  "  False 
pride;  mistaken  sentiment!  We  know  the  advantage 
of  springing  from  a  good  stock.  Now  I  understand 


THE  INHERITANCE  329 

why  I  sometimes  felt  a  curious  sympathy  with  Hard- 
ing, even  when  I  hated  his  opinions." 

"  You  gave  us  no  reason  to  suspect  it,"  Beatrice 
answered  with  a  smile.  "  Do  you  know  his  father's 
history  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  tell  it  without 
his  son's  permission." 

"  Then  we'll  wait,"  said  Beatrice.  "  Craig  will  be 
here  soon." 

Harding  came  in  a  few  minutes  afterward,  and 
Mowbray,  giving  him  a  friendly  greeting,  handed  him 
the  letter  Lance  had  brought,  and  the  photographs. 

"  Your  father  was  a  comrade  of  mine,"  the  Colonel 
said.  "  We  were  both  stationed  at  an  outpost  in 
Northern  India." 

"  Then  you  may  be  able  to  tell  me  something  about 
his  early  life,"  replied  Harding  quietly.  "  It's  a  sub- 
ject he  never  spoke  of." 

"  I  can  do  so.  Are  you  willing  that  Beatrice  and  her 
mother  should  hear?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  don't  wish  to  hide  anything  from  them." 

"  Very  well.  Your  father  was  an  infantry  captain 
and  well  thought  of  in  his  regiment.  His  worst  faults 
were  a  quick  temper  and  a  rash  impulsiveness,  but  he 
suffered  for  them.  Before  coming  to  India,  he  married 
beneath  him,  a  girl  of  some  beauty  but  no  education. 
His  relatives  strongly  opposed  the  match,  and  there 
was  a  quarrel  with  them. 

"  After  a  time  Basil  was  ordered  to  a  station  where 
there  was  some  European  society  and  his  wife  was  out 
of  her  element  there.  The  other  women  of  the  post 
1  objected  to  her,  and  openly  insulted  her.  Basil  had 


330        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

one  quarrel  after  another  on  her  behalf,  and  finally, 
after  an  unusually  stormy  scene  with  the  artillery 
major,  Basil  sent  in  his  papers. 

"  His  relatives  refused  to  receive  him,  they  cut  off 
his  allowance;  but  he  clung  to  his  wife  until  she  died  a 
couple  years  later.  Then  he  came  to  Canada  and 
vanished. 

"  His  mother  died ;  and  one  by  one  the  others  fol- 
lowed—  all  except  Basil  Morel,  his  mother's  brother." 

"  Ah !  "  Beatrice  interrupted. 

The  Colonel  glanced  at  her  a  moment,  and  then  went 
on: 

"  Morel  had  a  very  strong  affection  for  Basil  — he 
was  his  namesake  and  only  nephew.  Feeling  that  they 
had  been  too  hard  on  him,  Morel  traced  Basil  in  Can- 
ada, wrote  him  a  long  letter,  and  enclosed  a  draft  for  a 
thousand  pounds,  as  part  of  back  allowances.  Basil 
wrote  a  brief  and  bitter  note  in  answer,  then  deposited 
the  money  in  a  Winnipeg  bank,  to  be  given  to  his  son 
after  his  death,  on  condition  that  the  son  never  ques- 
tion where  it  came  from.  This  son  was  by  the  second 
wife;  there  were  no  children  by  the  first. 

"  Well,  Basil  died ;  the  bank  reported  to  Morel  that 
the  money  had  been  paid  to  the  son;  and  then  —  the 
old  man,  living  alone  at  Ash  Garth,  was  getting  very 
lonely;  he  had  time  to  brood  over  the  injustice  done 
Basil,  and,  before  he  died,  he  wanted  to  make  it  up  to 
Basil's  son.  But  the  son  had  completely  disappeared. 
He  had  left  Dakota  and  gone  to  Manitoba;  from  there 
all  trace  of  him  had  vanished.  Morel  is  now  a  broken 
old  man;  but,  because  Basil  and  I  were  comrades,  he 
confides  many  things  to  me,  and  I  know  that  deep  down 


THE  INHERITANCE  331 

in  his  heart  there  is  still  a  hope  that  he  will  live  long 
enough  to  find  Basil's  son." 

The  Colonel's  voice  was  husky,  and  he  paused  a  mo- 
ment before  he  said : 

"  With  your  permission,  Mr.  Harding,  I  should  like 
to  send  him  a  cable." 

Harding  nodded  assent. 

Beatrice  was  crying  softly. 

"  Now  I  understand  why  Mr.  Morel  always  looked 
so  sad  when  I  talked  of  the  prairie,"  she  said  brokenly. 
"  Mother,  you  must  have  known !  "  she  added  as  an 
afterthought. 

"  Yes,  but  I  didn't  feel  that  it  was  my  secret,  dear," 
Mrs.  Mowbray  answered  gently. 

At  the  Colonel's  request,  Harding  told  them  of  his 
early  life;  and  then  he  and  Beatrice  drove  across  the 
prairie  to  tell  the  story  to  Hester.  Beatrice  felt  that  it 
was  the  girl's  right  to  know. 

Harvest  came,  and  although  the  crop  was  lighter 
than  he  had  hoped,  Harding  saw  that  he  would  have  a 
satisfactory  margin.  It  was  not  so  with  most  of  his 
neighbors,  and  when  the  strain  of  forced  effort  slack- 
ened, and  the  smoke  of  the  thrasher  no  longer  streaked 
the  stubble,  there  were  anxious  hearts  at  Allen  wood. 
Even  the  buoyant  courage  of  the  younger  men  began 
to  sink ;  hitherto  they  had  carelessly  borne  their  private 
troubles,  but  now  they  felt  that  the  settlement  was  in 
danger.  Those  who  had  never  taken  thought  before 
asked  what  must  be  done,  and  nobody  could  tell  them. 
Harding  and  his  friends  had  a  surprise  to  spring  on 
their  neighbors,  and  on  Davies  as  well,  but  they 
waited  until  the  time  was  ripe. 


332        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

Then  one  evening  Mowbray  rode  over  to  Kenwyne's 
homestead. 

"  You  and  Broadwood  have  opposed  me,  but  I  have 
never  doubted  your  sincerity,"  he  said.  "  In  fact,  since 
Brand  has  gone,  I  feel  I'd  rather  trust  you  and  Hard- 
ing than  the  boys  who  have  given  me  their  thoughtless 
support.  We  are  threatened  with  grave  trouble." 

"  We  must  try  to  justify  your  belief  in  us,  sir,"  said 
Kenwyne.  "  What  is  the  trouble?  " 

"  Carlyon,  Webster,  and  Shepstone  came  to  me,  and 
confessed  that  they  have  mortgaged  their  farms.  To 
make  things  worse,  I  have  a  letter  from  the  man  in 
Winnipeg  they  borrowed  from,  informing  me  that  he 
would  seize  Gerald's  land  unless  a  large  sum  is  paid. 
You  must  see  that  this  means  disaster  to  Allenwood." 

Mowbray  looked  harassed  and  worn,  and  Kenwyne 
felt  sorry  for  him. 

"  I  suggest  that  you  let  the  fellow  produce  his  mort- 
gages and  receive  him  at  a  council  meeting.  The  mat- 
ter's of  interest  to  everybody." 

"Then  you  have  some  scheme?"  Mowbray  asked 
eagerly. 

"  As  it's  far-reaching,  we'd  rather  put  it  before  the 
council.  I'm  half  afraid  we  can't  expect  your  ap- 
proval until  you  know  everything;  but  you  should  be 
able  to  command  a  majority  if  we  don't  convince  you." 

"  I  can  do  nothing  to  save  the  settlement,"  Mowbray 
said  with  dignity;  "  and  I  dare  not  refuse  to  let  others 
try,  even  if  their  ways  are  not  mine.  We'll  leave  it 
at  that.  I'll  call  the  meeting." 

It  was  a  calm,  clear  evening  when  all  the  Allenwood 
settlers  assembled  in  the  hall  at  the  Grange.  The  days 
were  getting  shorter,  and  a  lamp  or  two  was  lighted; 


THE  INHERITANCE  333 

but,  outside,  the  last  of  the  sunset  glowed  in  a  red  band 
along  the  prairie's  rim.  Mowbray  sat  at  the  head  of 
the  table ;  Harding,  Broadwood,  Kenwyne,  and  Lance 
were  close  together;  the  rest  scattered  about  the  spa- 
cious room,  some  half  hidden  in  the  shadow,  some 
where  the  partial  illumination  touched  them.  All  were 
silent  and  expectant ;  they  felt  it  would  prove  a  mem- 
orable night  for  Allenwood. 

There  was  a  rattle  of  wheels  outside,  and  soon  after- 
ward Davies  was  shown  in.  He  was  smartly  dressed 
in  well-cut  city  clothes,  and  his  aggressive,  self-con- 
scious air  contrasted  with  the  easy  grace  of  the  brown- 
faced  men  in  shooting  jackets  and  fringed  deerskin. 

"  I  came  here  expecting  a  private  interview,"  he  said 
to  Mowbray.  "  I  do  not  understand  why  I'm  asked  to 
meet  these  gentlemen,  most  of  whom  I  have  not  the 
pleasure  of  knowing." 

"  I  cannot  tell  what  you  expected,"  Mowbray  an- 
swered haughtily.  "  Your  business  is,  however,  of  in- 
terest to  us  all,  and  to  state  it  now  will  save  some  time, 
because  nothing  can  be  done  until  our  council  is  in- 
formed of  it." 

Davies'  glance  wandered  round  the  room,  as  if  in 
search  of  somebody,  but  he  did  not  notice  Harding, 
who  was  in  the  shadow. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  undoing  a  bundle  of  docu- 
ments. "  I  hold  mortgages  on  land  and  property  be- 
longing to  Gerald  Mowbray,  Carlyon,  Webster,  and 
Shepstone."  He  read  out  particulars  of  the  sums  lent 
and  interest  due,  and  then  put  the  papers  on  the  table. 
"  You  are  at  liberty  to  examine  them." 

Carlyon  turned  to  Mowbray,  with  a  flushed  face. 

"  They  can't  be  contested,  sir.     Speaking  for  the 


334        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

others,  as  well  as  myself,  I  must  say  that  we  feel  our 
position,  and  are  very  sorry  that  we  have  brought  this 
trouble  upon  you  and  our  friends." 

Harding  moved  forward  and  picked  up  the  mort- 
gages, and  Davies  showed  his  surprise.  After  exam- 
ining the  documents  carefully,  Harding  passed  them  to 
Broadwood,  who  looked  over  them  in  a  silence  that 
was  accentuated  by  the  rattle  of  a  loose  blind  as  puffs 
of  wind  swept  into  the  room. 

"  All  right,"  Broadwood  said,  and  handed  a  sheet  of 
paper  to  each  of  the  debtors. 

"  Will  you  agree  to  these  terms  ?  Yes  or  no  ?  "  he 
asked. 

One  of  the  young  men  laughed  hoarsely,  as  if  from 
unexpected  relief ;  another  made  a  glad  sign  of  assent ; 
and  Carlyon's  eyes  were  bright  as  he  turned  to 
Broadwood. 

"  Agree  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  We  never  hoped  for 
such  a  chance  as  this !  " 

Broadwood  put  one  of  the  papers  in  front  of  Mow- 
bray. 

"  They  consent,  sir.     We'd  like  your  sanction." 

"  I  cannot  give  it  unreservedly.  But  as  I  cannot 
suggest  anything  better,  I  must  not  refuse."  Mow- 
bray  addressed  Davies.  "  As  the  farms  were  mort- 
gaged against  the  provisions  of  our  settlement 
covenant,  I  believe  your  claim  might  be  disputed,  but 
I  won't  urge  that  point.  The  money  was  borrowed 
and  must  be  paid." 

"  With  your  permission,  sir !  "  Harding  took  the 
big  inkstand  and  placed  it  before  Davies.  "  Write  a 
formal  discharge  for  these  debts,  and  I'll  give  you  a 
check." 


THE  INHERITANCE  335 

Davies'  face  was  hot  with  baffled  fury,  but  he  asked 
in  a  sneering  tone: 

*'  Will  the  bank  make  it  good?  " 

"  Here's  their  letter,"  said  Harding  dryly. 

Davies  glanced  at  the  letter,  and  threw  it  down. 
Then  he  pulled  himself  together. 

"  It  seems,"  he  said  to  Mowbray,  "  that  you  have 
made  some  arrangement  to  finance  these  gentlemen, 
and  they  have  agreed ;  but  Mr.  Gerald  Mowbray  owes 
a  much  larger  sum,  and  I  have  his  word  that  he  is 
unable  to  pay.  He  left  the  matter  in  my  hands,  and 
before  going  any  further  I  should  like  to  suggest  that 
we  might  arrive  at  some  understanding " 

Mowbray  cut  him  short. 

"  We  can  make  no  terms  with  you,  if  that  is  what 
is  meant.  My  son  owes  you  money;  you  must  take 
what  you  are  entitled  to." 

"  But  the  debt  is  his.     He  must  decide." 

"  He  has  decided,"  Harding  said  quietly.  "  Here's 
a  telegram  from  him,  answering  a  letter  of  mine  which 
he  probably  got  after  you  left.  He  agrees  to  transfer 
the  mortgaged  property  to  his  father  and  another,  on 
terms  that  don't  concern  you.  Read  it." 

"  Ah !  "  cried  Davies,  hoarse  with  anger.  "  Mow- 
bray has  gone  back  on  me.  I  was  a  fool  to  trust 
him!" 

Colonel  Mowbray  flushed,  but  did  not  answer,  and 
Harding  turned  to  Davies. 

"  This  has  nothing  to  do  with  our  business.  Write 
your  receipts,  including  Gerald  Mowbray's  debt,  and 
take  your  money." 

Davies  did  so,  and  carefully  examined  the  check 
Harding  gave  him.  Then  he  got  up  and  made  Mow- 


336        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

bray  an  ironical  bow.     One  of  the  men  opened  the 
door,  and  he  went  out  surlily. 

There  was  a  general  movement  and  a  murmur 
throughout  the  room,  expressing  relief  and  a  slacken- 
ing of  tension. 

"  It's  a  satisfaction  to  see  the  last  of  the  fellow," 
one  man  said,  voicing  the  feelings  of  all.  "  The  set- 
tlement has  escaped  a  danger;  but  we  must  be  careful 
not  to  let  it  fall  into  another.  May  I  inquire  about  the 
agreement  which  Mr.  Harding  has  made  with  our 
friends?" 

Harding  explained  that  they  were  to  farm  their  land 
under  his  instructions,  paying  a  moderate  rate  of  in- 
terest. A  fixed  sum  was  to  be  set  aside  every  year 
to  redeem  the  loan,  so  that  in  time  the  debtors  would 
again  acquire  possession,  and  any  surplus  would  be- 
long to  them. 

"  Mr.  Harding's  position  is  now  very  strong,"  the 
man  contended.  "  He  can,  if  he  wishes,  dictate  to  the 
rest  of  us,  and  I  think  we  ought  to  know  his  plans  and 
how  he  expects  to  profit." 

There  was  deep  silence  when  Harding  got  upon  his 
feet  and  glanced  round  the  room.  A  few  of  the  men 
were  obviously  suspicious,  and  one  or  two  hostile,  but 
some  looked  willing  to  give  him  fair  play  and  some 
quietly  confident  in  him. 

"  To  begin  with,  I  expect  no  direct  profit  from 
Allenwood,"  he  said.  "  The  advantage  I  shall  gain 
will  be  the  keeping  down  of  my  working  expenses  by 
your  cooperation.  With  better  trails  we'll  need  fewer 
teams  to  bring  out  supplies  and  haul  in  our  grain ;  and 
we  can  avoid  using  two  half -empty  wagons  when  one 
will  take  both  loads.  We  can  buy  and  sell  on  joint 


THE  INHERITANCE  337 

lines,  saving  all  round,  and  can  use  the  latest  and  big- 
gest machines.  Singly,  we  cannot  afford  them;  com- 
bined, we  can  buy  and,  what  is  more,  keep  the 
implements  employed.  But  we  can  work  out  details 
later.  You  have  reached  a  turning-point  to-night. 
Those  of  you  with  private  means,  if  there  are  any 
such,  may  continue  to  farm  as  a  pastime,  but  for  the 
man  who  must  live  by  his  farming,  it  is  serious  work. 
There  is  a  time  of  low  prices  before  us  that  will  weed 
out  the  slack;  but  with  care  and  effort  we  can  hold 
out  until  the  flood  of  prosperity  which  is  coming 
sweeps  our  difficulties  away.  We  must  perfect  our 
methods,  fall  in  with  modern  practise,  and  study 
economy.  That  I  have  now  some  power  here  is  true ; 
I  ask  your  help,  and  value  it,  but  if  needful  I  can  do 
without  it.  I  and  several  more  are  going  on,  working 
together  on  the  best  plan  we  can  find,  as  we  have 
begun." 

A  murmur  of  applause  greeted  the  close  of  the 
speech,  for  Harding's  blunt  candor  had  gained  him  the 
respect  of  his  antagonists  and  strengthened  the  loyalty 
of  his  friends. 

Then  Mowbray  leaned  forward,  holding  up  his 
hand. 

"  We  have  heard  Mr.  Harding's  intentions  declared 
with  the  straightforwardness  one  expects  from  him; 
and  it  must  be  clear  to  all  that  he  has  freed  Allenwood 
from  a  peril."  He  paused,  and  his  voice  was  strained 
as  he  resumed :  "  For  a  while  we  prospered  here,  and 
I  like  to  think  I  led  you  well ;  but  the  times  began  to 
change  without  our  recognizing  it.  I  cannot  change, 
but  you  must,  for  you  are  young ;  the  future  lies  before 
you.  I  am  old,  and  I  feel  my  age  to-night.  The  bur- 


338        HARDING,  OF  ALLENWOOD 

den  of  rule  gets  heavy;  I  want  to  lay  it  down.  You 
must  choose  another  leader  who  understands  these 
times,  and  I  think  you  see  where  a  wise  choice  lies." 

For  a  moment  nobody  spoke,  and  then  a  unanimous 
cry  of  protest  broke  out.  It  rang  with  feeling,  and 
when  it  died  away  man  after  man  urged  Mowbray  to 
keep  control. 

He  listened  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  I  am  honored  by  this  mark  of  confidence,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  But  if  I  consent,  you  must  give  me  the 
helper  I  need,  and  you  must  follow  him  with  the  loy- 
alty you  have  always  shown  me.  To  some  extent  we 
shall  counterbalance  extremes  in  each  other,  which 
may  be  for  the  good  of  all,  because  I  have  much  to 
learn  from  the  present,  and  my  helper  something  from 
the  past.  I  could  not  ask  you  to  obey  an  outsider,  but 
the  man  I  choose  will  soon  become  a  member  of  my 
family.  I  nominate  Mr.  Harding,  who  has  saved  the 
settlement." 

There  were  cries  of  agreement  that  swelled  into  a 
storm  of  satisfaction,  and  Harding  said  a  few  words 
in  a  voice  that  shook.  This  was  a  turn  of  affairs  he 
had  not  expected,  and  he  was  moved  by  Mowbray's 
confidence  and  the  number  of  friends  he  had  made. 

Then  the  council  broke  up,  and  when  the  last  had 
gone  Mowbray  joined  his  wife  on  the  veranda,  where 
he  sat  looking  with  tired  eyes  toward  the  pale  red  glow 
on  the  skyline  left  by  the  setting  sun.  The  prairie  was 
formless  and  shadowy,  but  darkness  had  not  quite 
closed  in. 

"  I  feel  that  all  this  is  symbolical,  my  dear,"  he  said. 
"  My  day  is  over,  but  the  night  has  not  yet  come. 


THE  INHERITANCE  339 

Though  it  will  not  be  by  the  way  I  would  have  chosen, 
I  may  still  see  Allenwood  safe  and  prosperous." 

Mrs.  Mowbray  took  his  hand  caressingly. 

"  You  have  led  the  boys  well,  and  taught  them 
much ;  they  will  not  forget  it.  You  never  shrank  from 
a  sacrifice  that  was  for  their  good  —  and  I  know  the 
cost  of  the  one  you  have  made  to-night." 

"  I  knew  I  could  trust  to  your  sympathy ;  you 
haven't  failed  me  yet,"  he  said  gently.  "  I  wonder 
why  Gerald  broke  away  from  the  rascal  at  last.  I  may 
be  wrong,  but  I'd  like  to  believe  that  when  the  time 
came  he  found  he  could  not  betray  his  friends;  that 
his  heart  spoke,  and  a  trace  of  the  honor  we  tried  to 
teach  him  awoke  to  life." 

"  I  think  you're  right,"  Mrs.  Mowbray  answered. 
"  I  am  sure  there  is  hope  for  him." 

Then  she  turned  and  her  eyes  rested  on  the  dark 
figures  of  Beatrice  and  Harding,  who  had  left  the 
house  and  were  walking  slowly  across  the  plain. 
Moving  side  by  side,  with  love  and  confidence  in  their 
hearts,  they  looked  toward  the  east,  where  the  dawn 
would  rise. 


THE  END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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